


My Autumn Touch of Gold

by prettylittlementirosa



Series: a thrill to press my cheek to [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Flashbacks, Future Fic, M/M, POV Sam Wilson, Past Relationship(s), Post-Break Up, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 76,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7411651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylittlementirosa/pseuds/prettylittlementirosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam seriously considers checking the ‘regretfully declines’ box. It’s not that he isn’t happy for Steve and T’Challa or that he doesn’t want to be there to see them get married. He’s just not sure he can handle seeing Bucky up close and in person, even after all this time. He wishes he was a better person. A more put-together person. A more over-it person, but. Well. It’s a Friday night and he’s at home drinking twelve-dollar wine by himself, staring at a little rectangle of fancy stock paper, trying to decide which tiny box he should scribble in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, um, not to be like super annoying or anything, but I'm back. Again. This time with a multi-chapter WIP. ...yay?
> 
> 1.) This fic is set 5 years into the future. You don't have to read the other works in this series to follow this one but.. I don't know.. if you want to know what Sam and Bucky getting together looked like, then you might want to. 
> 
> 2.) There are no warnings, yet, but I'll be adding additional tags as the story progresses.
> 
> 3.) There are flashbacks. I was going to to put them in italics but I really hated the way it looked. So instead I'm just putting the date at the top of each section. I hope it's not too confusing. :/
> 
> 4.) Ten points to anybody who knows what the title is from without googling it.
> 
> 5.) Twenty points to anybody who knows what the title is and is not judging me.
> 
> 6.) Sorry in advance. 
> 
> 7.) Come yell about stuff and things with me on tumblr at [bisexualbcky](http://bisexualbcky.tumblr.com/)
> 
> EDIT (March 17, 2017): So now that there's a lot more information coming out about Black Panther I feel like it's necessary to clarify something about "Nakia" in this fic. When I wrote this, Nakia was the name I chose to use for the member of the Dora Milaje in CACW who said "Move or you will be moved" to Nat. At the time there wasn't a name for her so I just chose one of the available names from the Black Panther comics. Apparently her name is Ayo (and obviously Nakia is going to be the character played by Lupita) but I just wanted to make sure nobody got confused when they read this cause they're obviously two very different characters. That's it! Enjoy!

**Present Day (May 2021)**

Sam seriously considers checking the ‘regretfully declines’ box. It’s not that he isn’t happy for Steve and T’Challa or that he doesn’t want to be there to see them get married. He’s just not sure he can handle seeing Bucky up close and in person, even after all this time. He wishes he was a better person. A more put-together person. A more over-it person, but. Well. It’s a Friday night and he’s at home drinking twelve-dollar wine by himself, staring at a little rectangle of fancy stock paper, trying to decide which tiny box he should scribble in.

He may also be drunk.

But like just a little. A totally respectable amount. Just enough to get his problem-solving juices flowing so that he can figure out what to do about this little RSVP situation. A pros and cons list is the answer. Obviously. 

He takes out a pad of paper and draws what is a mostly-straight line down the middle, writes “Pros” on one side and “Cons” on the other. Feeling like he’s made a good amount of progress, he gets up and pours himself another glass of wine. He’s pretty sure he’s still within what would be an acceptable range of alcohol consumption. 

By the time he’s yell-singing “Mr. Brightside” into the remote an hour later he may have veered slightly out of that range but it’s okay. His pros and cons list is coming along spectacularly. 

On the pro side he has:

  * Get to see Steve
  * Get to see T’Challa
  * Get to see Steve + T’Challa
  * Get to see everybody else
  * Wakanda
  * A moment in history
  * Love
  * Nat will kick my ass if I don’t go



 

And then there’s a series of indecipherable scribbles with little hearts drawn around them.

 

On the con side he has:

  * Bucky



 

The con side is definitely winning. Sam pours himself another glass and tries to think of a believable excuse he can use to get out of going to this wedding. He can’t say he has work. The wedding’s in June after school’s already out for the summer. He can’t use his cat as an excuse because he doesn’t have a fucking cat. He can’t use his sister because she’s a grown-ass woman who would kick his ass if he even thought about it. He can’t use his romantic partner because he no longer has a…

There’s an idea.

Okay no. Sam is not that pathetic. Hiring an escort is completely off limits. Not a chance in hell. It wouldn’t accomplish anything anyway. It wouldn’t make seeing Bucky any easier. It’s not like Sam feels like less of a success just because he’s not in a committed relationship. That’s not the problem.

The problem is that every time Sam sees Bucky’s name pop up on one of their mutual friends’ various social media accounts, Sam feels like the floor has suddenly disappeared from beneath him. The problem is that Sam can’t walk by a shelf of apple cinnamon-scented candles without getting goosebumps, thinking about the way Bucky felt inside of him. The problem is that Sam can’t eat pad thai without remembering staying up late to quiz Bucky the night before he had an exam. The problem is Bucky. The problem is Sam can’t seem to move on.

He drains the rest of his glass and gets up to pour another one but the bottle is empty. He opens a new one and forgoes the glass entirely this time. He’s not even sure why he bothered with one in the first place. There’s nobody here to judge him. Not a boyfriend, not a sister, not even a fucking cat.

Maybe he should get a cat.

He looks at the state of his apartment. The trash is only stuffed like two empty cereal boxes too full. Three at most. The dishes are mostly clean thanks to the dishwasher. He should probably empty it at some point. His succulent is looking a little sad but it’s definitely still alive. Maybe. There’s a sock peeking out from underneath one of the couch cushions. He’s not sure if it’s dirty or clean.

Sam should not get a cat. 

He takes a gulp of wine as the sound of whoever the current pop sensation is voice booms over his speakers, singing about missing somebody and love lost.

That’s the problem. It’s this music. It’s depressing as hell. He fiddles with the device until he finds a suitable station: Good Time Oldies. Tammi Terrell and Marvin Gaye immediately let him know that they got him.

Excellent choice.

Four songs and another half bottle of wine later Sam’s really glad he opted for the hardwood floors. He wouldn’t be able to recreate that scene from _Risky Business_ on carpet. He just really loves this apartment. It’s his _home_. It makes him so happy. He loves having central air-conditioning; _nobody_ in New York has central air-conditioning. And he loves his bar stools. They’re the perfect height for the bar. They’re so high up. It’s crazy. This apartment is so good to him. He’s definitely going to love it back better from now on. He vows to give that succulent the water it deserves.

It’s just… it’s such a good plant. It really deserves more of Sam’s love. And Sam’s not even sure why he was even upset anymore. He’s got a nice plant that is going to be thriving soon and he has good friends and a job that he loves. And he’s got the bar stools and those things are so fucking cool. He can totally go to this wedding. He’s doing really well now and seeing Bucky will be easy. Maybe it will even be a good thing. They’ll laugh about the old times and then Bucky will go back to his life there and Sam will come back to his apartment here with his plant and that will be that. Easy peasy.

He scribbles a large blue check mark in the ‘Will be attending’ box. This is going to be the best wedding ever.

Thirty minutes later he’s singing into an empty wine bottle with tears running down his cheeks. “ _I can’t help myself. I’m a fool in love you see._ ”

He chokes back a sob.

“ _Wanna tell you I don’t love you…_ ”

 

* * *

 

**November 2019**

Sam’s been lying awake in bed for two hours. That’s on top of the three hours he waited up. He tried texting Bucky. No response. He tried calling. Straight to voicemail. Sam is half worried, half pissed.

Would it have been that difficult for Bucky to fire off a single text? Just a _hey i’m not gonna be home for dinner don’t wait up_. It’s not that hard. Unless of course Sam just didn’t even cross Bucky’s mind. Maybe he’s out having such a good time that it didn’t even occur to him that his boyfriend might be waiting for him back at the apartment they share, with a home-cooked dinner hot and ready on the table. Bucky probably didn’t think about that.

Okay so Sam’s more pissed than worried. He’s ninety-nine percent pissed, and using that last one-percent to try to convince himself that it’s possible that Bucky - with all his special skills and enhancements - might actually be in trouble. Even though they live in what is probably the safest country in the world.

Sam wants to scream.

More than that, he wants to sleep. It’s not so much that he’s tired or that he has to be up early for work (both of which are true), it’s that he wants this not to affect him. He wants to be able to fall asleep without needing his boyfriend in bed next to him. He wants to be the kind of person who’s secure enough in his relationship to not worry what his boyfriend is out doing without him, why he hasn’t called, why he seems to be gone so much more often these days. He doesn’t want to feel this looming sense of dread.

Mostly he doesn’t want to be the one who gets left behind with a broken heart.

Bucky makes it home around three-thirty and goes straight to the shower. When he finally crawls into bed and wraps his body around Sam, it feels different. It feels like a habit, like something he does because it’s what he always does; not something he does because it’s the only thing he wants to be doing. He drapes his arm around Sam but he doesn’t actually hold him, doesn’t burrow in close like he used to. He doesn’t even notice Sam’s still awake before he falls asleep.

Sam doesn’t fall asleep. 

 

* * *

**Present Day (May 2021)**

This is the worst Sam has ever felt in his entire life. Worse than any punch he’s ever taken or any flu he’s ever suffered. And he hasn’t even opened his eyes yet.

Why did he drink.. how many was it? Two? Why did he drink two bottles of wine last night?

He opens his eyes and _jesus christ_ why is it so bright. It’s like god’s asshole is shining down directly on him. At least he fell asleep on the couch and not the floor. Small victories.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Sam jumps so high the vomit whirling around inside him can’t even make it past his throat.

“Jesus, Nat.”

She’s sitting on the love-seat, legs tucked up under her, tablet in her lap, and perfectly put together.

“I can’t believe you had a party and didn’t invite me,” she says with a fake pout, mocking the state of his apartment.

He rubs his eyes and tries really hard not to throw-up. “I want my key back.”

“There’s water and aspirin on the table next to you.”

This is why Sam loves Nat. “Fine you can keep it.”

He takes the aspirin with a huge gulp of water, praying it actually goes down and stays down. He cannot believe how terrible he feels. There is nothing in the world that could possibly make him feel any worse than he does in this moment.

“I’m glad you decided to go to the wedding,” Nat says and Sam’s eyes focus on the RSVP card where he definitely checked ‘Will be attending.’ “I booked our flight while you were drooling. We’ll be there for two weeks.”

Apparently it is possible to feel worse. So much worse.

He picks up the card. “That was a mistake, a very drunken mistake. I’m not going.”

He can’t go to this wedding. He just can’t. It’s too hard. Steve and T’Challa will understand. Once he comes up with a viable excuse that is. And he will come up with one. He just has to figure out how to tell them that he can’t go because he still has a sweatshirt he stole from Bucky stuffed down into the bottom of one of his drawers and it’s the reason he can’t seem to make it past date number three with anyone else; but in a way that makes it clear that Sam not going to the wedding has nothing to do with Bucky and everything to do with his super busy, super fulfilling life here in New York.

“Tickets are non-refundable, sorry,” Nat says with a shrug that makes it clear she’s not sorry at all.

Sam groans. This is going to be a disaster and when his head no longer feels like it’s going to explode, he’s going to make a list of all the ways it’s going to be a disaster. Right now, he settles for forcing himself into the shower. The heat from the water eases the tension in his head a little and he only pukes once, right over the drain. Not the worst shower he’s ever had. He feels marginally better by the time he re-emerges and finds his apartment way cleaner than it was when he got up. The trash has been taken out and there’s a new bag in the bin. The dishwasher’s been emptied judging by the lack of dishes in the sink, and there are no dirty clothes flung around the place. There’s not even any empty bottles of wine lying around anywhere.

Natasha hands him a cup of coffee.

“It won’t be that bad, you know,” she says. “You might not even see him outside of the wedding.”

She’s looking at him with pity, doing that half-smile thing she does- the one where she’s trying to be positive but doesn’t know how to fake it.

Sam wants to lie and say that’s not why he doesn’t want to go; wants to tell her that he doesn’t think he can afford it or that he’s just going to be too busy or any of a number of other reasons there are that he can’t go to Wakanda for a couple of weeks to see two of his closest friends get married. He’s trying to form the words when Nat hands him a pad of paper.

“I emailed you the flight information,” she says as she picks her keys up off the coffee table, then walks to the front door. Before she leaves, she shoots him that forced smile again, one shoulder raised in a sympathetic shrug. “It’ll be fun,” she says, then leaves.

Sam looks down at the pad of paper in his hands. _Bucky_ is still the only item listed under “Cons.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii! I'm so excited about this chapter and everyone's been so lovely about everything else so far. You're all seriously amazing! <3
> 
> Okay warnings: There's a lot of discussion of PTSD, survivor's guilt, etc. So please be mindful of that.
> 
> Also, remember how I said you don't need to have read the other works in this series to understand what's going on? Well, that's still true, but I think there are a few things you might find confusing (or at least out of nowhere) if you haven't read them yet (ex: Bucky being in school).
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://bisexualbcky.tumblr.com/)! I'm using the tag [#attpmct](http://bisexualbcky.tumblr.com/tagged/attpmct) for stuff related to this here little story. It's kind of barren right now but hopefully it'll start growing soon. : )

**Present Day (May 2021)**

Four weeks until Sam has to get on a plane and fly across the Atlantic Ocean. Four weeks until he’s going to step foot in Wakanda for the first time in over a year. Four weeks until he’s going to be in the same place as the guy he thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with for the first time since their break-up. Four weeks to pull himself together.

Four weeks is not a lot of time. There’s not much he can accomplish in a month, especially not anything he hasn’t been able to accomplish in the last year and a half, so he focuses on the tangible stuff. Like finding a suit to wear to the wedding.

The obvious choice for help in this department would be Tony but, well, he’s Tony. Sam doesn’t hate the guy. He can sit through a dinner with him and he really enjoys watching drunk Tony sing karaoke, especially when his love ballads are directed at Rhodey, but there’s still an unresolved tension there. Tony and Steve may have repaired their relationship but they had a relationship to begin with. Sam and Tony, not so much. It’s kind of hard to fix a friendship when there was no friendship in the first place. Plus there’s the issue of Tony harboring an all-consuming rage for the man Sam was sharing his life with. That one’s not so much an issue these days and Tony has definitely tried to bond with Sam over what he thinks is a common enemy but Sam doesn’t hate Bucky. At least not the way Tony wants him to.

On the bright side: maybe the Tony-still-very-much-wants-to-kill-Bucky issue will distract everyone from Sam and the fact that he is not handling this situation very well. Maybe Tony’s murder glare will distract Bucky so much that he doesn’t even notice Sam is there.

Or maybe Bucky won’t even need to be distracted. Maybe he’s so far over Sam, he’s practically forgotten him. Maybe the only person who’s going to be awkward and uncomfortable is Sam. Maybe Bucky will introduce Sam to his wife and kids as an “old friend.”

Maybe Sam should stop thinking about Bucky’s hypothetical new life and start thinking about suits.

Natasha thrusts a gray one at his chest. “This’ll bring out the color of your eyes or whatever.”

Sam gives her the most unimpressed look he’s capable of. “My eyes are brown.”

She shrugs. “Or whatever.”

“You’re really bad at this.”

“I can call Tony if you’d like,” she says, reaching for her phone.

He takes the suit from her. “You’re really good at this.”

The suit fits and it looks like… a suit, like every other suit he’s ever worn in his life. It’s fine. It’ll work. Sam should just buy it and be done with it. One more thing to check off the list before they go to Wakanda. But as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, to himself or anyone else, he wants to look better than just fine for this wedding. He wants to look like moving back to New York and starting his life over without Bucky was the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

He sighs. “I think we should call Tony,” he says to Natasha through the dressing room door. He can’t see her but he knows the exact face she’s making. It’s her slightly-smug-but-mostly-amused-at-how-transparent-you-are-Sam-Wilson face. He hates that face.

Tony texts them an address and they meet him there. It’s a lot smaller than Sam thought it would be. Just an inconspicuous shop hidden amongst a bunch of other inconspicuous shops. The exact opposite of everything Tony Stark is.

Tony’s waiting for them inside, with coffee. He hands Sam a paper cup with a grin. “This is going to be so much fun.”

Sam is already regretting this.

A dozen color swatches, at least twenty jackets, and fifteen minutes of measurements later, they’ve picked out a suit for him. Sam’s not entirely sure what it’s going to look like when it’s ready. He just knows that Tony and his tailor seem very pleased with their choice.

He stopped caring somewhere around the eighth jacket. 

Tony clasps his hands together. “Dinner at my place?”

Sam groans internally. He’s exhausted. He just wants to go home and crawl into bed, maybe stay there forever. But it would be rude to decline a dinner invitation from the guy that just paid for a suit that probably costs more than Sam’s entire salary. 

He glances at Natasha, hoping she’ll have an excuse at the ready but she’s doing something on her phone, hardly paying them any attention. “Yeah, sure,” she says absently. 

“Fantastic,” Tony says.

Sam does his best approximation of a smile.

Dinner isn’t that bad. Pepper’s there, thankfully, and she keeps the conversation flowing easily. Tony’s always a lot more subdued around her. Thank god she finally took him back. 

Natasha is still completely absorbed in her phone, which wouldn’t be that weird - she’s pretty much always doing something on it - except it’s taking all of her attention. She’s usually pretty good at multitasking but today all of her attention has been in her hand. She even missed a wide open opportunity for an “I told you so” directed at Tony, which Sam is pretty sure is the sole thing sustaining her life force. He makes a mental note to ask her about it later.

Sam’s bringing his plate to the sink when Tony corners him. “So how are you going to play this?”

Sam looks at the plate in his hand. “Uh I was gonna rinse it off, then put it in the dishwasher.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “The wedding. Barnes. That’s what the suit’s about, right? You want to look good?”

Sam stops in his tracks. He hates that he’s this transparent, wants to deny that the suit has anything to do with Bucky. More than anything, he wants to not be having this conversation with Tony of all people.

“I’m not gonna do this with you, man,” he tells him.

Tony crosses his arms. “This isn’t,” he starts, then pauses. “This isn’t about my issues with Barnes, though my issues are not unfounded and it would make me feel better as a person if you could acknowledge that what I’m feeling is valid.”

Sam just stares at him.

“Okay fine,” Tony says. “I can see you’re not there yet. That’s okay. You’re still holding onto the guy that broke your heart into a million teensy tiny little pieces and that’s fine.”

“You don’t even know what happened,” Sam says.

Tony throws his arms up. “That’s because you won’t tell me!”

“It’s none of your business.”

“All I know is that you were there in Wakanda living your life in what I assume was perfect harmony with Barnes. And then all of a sudden you were back here in New York without him and you were devastated.”

Sam wants to say something about how maybe the only reason Bucky wasn’t with him when he came back was because Tony refused to include Bucky in the deal that cleared everyone else’s names. He wants to throw the fact that Bucky couldn’t be here with Sam, even if he wanted to be, in Tony’s face but he knows it’s not worth it. And it’s not the point anyway so he opts for silence.

When Tony sees he’s not going to get a response he says, “I just want you to know you’re not alone. Whatever happened between you and Barnes, whatever he did to you, I’m on your side.”

It’s… nice. Completely misguided and at least ninety percent self-serving, but it’s nice.

“Thanks,” Sam says and puts the plate in the dishwasher, then goes to find Natasha before Tony can start trying to plan ‘Make Barnes Jealous’ strategies. 

 

* * *

 

**October 2016**

“Anaphase,” Bucky says from where he’s lying on the floor. He’s drumming his fingers on his stomach and he’s got a huge smile on his face.

Sam flips the notecard over. Anaphase.

“Yep,” he says. It’s the last card of the stack and Bucky got every one right. He’s going to pass this test with flying colors. “I think you’re ready.”

Bucky sits up and stretches his arms over his head. His t-shirt rides up a little, just enough to show a sliver of the dark hairs running down into his sweatpants. 

“I like biology,” he says.

Sam knows. It only took about three weeks of Bucky going to classes to see very clearly that biology was going to be his favorite. It’s kind of cute, actually, the way Bucky gets excited about it. He’ll put off doing his reading for history for as long as possible (and Sam has a lot of thoughts about _that_ ) but he cracks open that biology textbook the second he gets home. It’s endearing and Sam is only a little embarrassed to have so many feelings about the way another man studies.

Bucky crawls over to where Sam’s sitting on the couch and positions himself in between Sam’s legs, hands on his thighs. His hair is tied back and his stubble is coming in and he’s the most beautiful thing Sam’s ever seen. Sometimes it takes his breath away just how beautiful Bucky Barnes really is. He’s looking up at Sam with a small smile and there’s a flutter in Sam’s chest.

Bucky takes Sam’s hand in his, and brings it to his lips. He kisses the inside of Sam’s wrist softly, eyes closed, then presses his cheek into Sam’s palm. When he opens his eyes, his gaze bores into Sam and Sam can’t look away. He doesn’t want to. Maybe not ever.

“I love you,” Bucky says. It’s quiet but unmistakable, deliberate, and Sam’s heart seizes. He feels the world stop spinning as everything around them zeroes in on this moment, on the way Bucky’s looking up at him, open and vulnerable, and it takes him a second to catch his breath.

As soon as his lungs start working again, he blurts out “I love you too” on an exhale.

The smile that takes over Bucky’s face could light up the entire night sky. He surges up onto his knees as Sam leans down to meet him in a kiss. Bucky tastes like the vanilla cappuccinos he’s been drinking all night and the softness of his lips is in stark contrast to the rough scrape of his stubble and Sam can’t get enough. He grabs a fistful of Bucky’s shirt and pulls. 

Bucky responds by getting his hands under Sam’s knees and pulling until Sam’s at the edge of the cushion, their bodies pressed as close together as possible, then wraps his arms all the way around Sam.

It’s perfect. Sam’s never felt like this before, never felt this happy and safe and warm. His heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest. He pulls back just enough to look at Bucky. He wants to take him in, memorize his face as his brain catalogues this perfect moment.

Tonight Bucky’s eyes have a green tint to them and they’re sparkling. Sam runs his thumb along Bucky’s cheekbone, just under his eye, and Bucky leans into the touch, eyelids falling closed.

“Hey,” Sam murmurs and Bucky’s eyelids flutter back up just as the front door swings open.

“On the couch, guys? Really?” Steve asks as he walks into the apartment.

“Sorry,” Bucky says without taking his eyes off Sam. 

Sam’s not sorry, not one bit. He wants to live in this moment forever and he doesn’t care if Steve is walking around in the periphery, as long as Bucky doesn’t stop looking at him like he’s the only thing in the entire universe.

Bucky takes the hand that Sam’s still got clenched in his shirt and guides it up and around his neck. Then, in one quick motion, he wraps Sam’s legs around his waste and stands up.

“Night, Steve,” he says, as he carries Sam to his room.

Sam has no idea if Steve even responds.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (May 2021)**

Sam actually loves his job. A lot of people say they do but Sam really means it. It’s the one thing keeping him going, the one improvement in his life since moving back from Wakanda. It’s not that he hated what he was doing there; it just wasn’t fulfilling. It didn’t make him want to get out of bed in the morning.

Working at the high school does. It’s a lot of hard work, a lot of frustrating work. Teenagers are moody, hormonal assholes and they can seriously press Sam’s buttons, but all it takes is seeing one kid’s eyes light up with the promise of their future and it’s worth it. He wouldn’t trade it for anything.

It’s two weeks until summer starts so his day is filled with appointments with graduating seniors. Most of them are easy - kids who just want to make sure their official transcripts get sent to the college of their choice, a few coming in to say thank you for his help, and a couple who still haven’t decided which school to send their letter of intent to yet.

The kid that comes in at noon is a different story. He didn’t make the appointment himself; Sam requested it. He sits in the chair across from Sam, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world.

“You’re graduating in two weeks,” Sam says.

The kid, Trevor, doesn’t say anything. He just stares back at Sam, expressionless.

“And you’ll be eighteen next month,” Sam says, then stares back harder. He’s learned that silence and eye contact don’t make him nearly as uncomfortable as they make teenagers. It’s a great tactic to get them talking.

When Sam doesn’t continue, Trevor raises his eyebrows, defiant.

Sam copies him.

Trevor shifts in his seat.

Sam crosses his arms.

The kid breaks first. “Yeah. So what?”

“So what do you think you’re going to do with your life?” Normally, Sam would ease into the topic, let it come up more naturally. That way he can make the student feel at ease talking about their future, not trapped and pressured; but he can tell this kid already feels that way. Beating around the bush isn’t going to make a difference. “You didn’t apply to any schools. Do you have a job lined up?”

Trevor shrugs. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Well let’s talk about your options,” Sam says. He already has Trevor’s transcript up on his computer screen. His grades are average, mostly C’s, but that doesn’t really matter since he didn’t apply to any universities. “Community college is one.”

“Pass,” the kid says, bored.

“What about a trade school?” 

Trevor looks at him like he’d rather gouge his own eyes out with a pencil.

“Maybe I’ll join the military,” he says.

Sam can’t tell if he’s actually being serious but he goes with it anyway. “Okay, why the military?”

Trevor chews on his cuticles. “Why not?”

A million reasons flash through Sam’s mind: war, brainwashing, shit pay, a government that doesn’t care about you, long days, hard nights, a lifetime of nightmares and hypervigilance, watching your best friend die and not being able to do a thing about it, taking another human being’s life, losing the right to free speech and individuality, becoming government property, nightmares, nightmares, nightmares.

He clears his throat. “I think if you’re going to sign your life over to your country, you might want to have a better reason than ‘why not.’”

“Worked out for you, didn’t it?”

Not the response Sam was expecting. It’s not really a secret that Sam used to be ‘Falcon’ but the hype surrounding Captain America’s “rogue rebellion” died down years ago and most people couldn’t pick Sam out of a line-up these days. Especially since the last time his name was even in the news was back in 2018 when he was officially cleared of all charges. Nobody even batted an eyelash when he came back into the country. He doesn’t exactly have the notoriety some of the other Avengers do. The media will probably never stop talking about Steve’s decision not to sign The Accords, to give up the shield completely for a “quiet” life in Wakanda. Tony is Tony and his face would be plastered all over the news, suit or not.

But Sam? Sam’s just a high school guidance counselor doing his best to make sure the kids he works for have the chance they deserve to make something out of their lives. The fact that this kid not only recognizes him, but that some part of him, no matter how small, wants to emulate him is overwhelming.

Sam opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out.

Trevor rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I want to be you or anything. I mean you work in a high school.”

…And Sam’s right back to being a perfectly normal amount of _whelmed_.

Trevor sits up a little. “But you could be an Avenger if you wanted to, right? You just gotta sign that thing. And that’s because of the military?”

It’s true: the air force is one of the reasons why he’s in the situation he’s in but it’s not the only reason. A lot of stars had to align for it to happen. And more importantly: there were a lot of sacrifices, a lot of losses, a lot of tough calls. He’s still not entirely sure he’d do it all over again give the choice. But he’s not really sure how to convey all of this to a student, nor if he even should.

“It’s not that simple,” he says. “But I can get you in touch with a recruitment officer if that’s what you really want.”

Trevor doesn’t confirm or deny but he’s looking at Sam like he’s waiting for something.

Sam writes down the name and number of one of the recruitment officers he trusts. Before he gives it to Trevor, he says, “Just promise me you’ll really think about it before you make any decisions.”

Trevor takes the piece of paper. “Yeah, sure,” he says and leaves.

There’s a sinking feeling in Sam’s gut.

 

* * *

 

**January 2017**

“Do you know where he went?” Steve asks. His voice is calm but the lines of his face are pulled tight.

Sam doesn’t blame him. He’s just as worried. It’s been three hours since Bucky took off and nobody can get ahold of him. His phone’s turned off.

Sam shakes his head. “He just left. I tried to stop him but I-“

Steve cuts him off. “It’s not your fault.”

Sam wants to argue. He knows logically that it’s not his fault, that he’s not responsible for Bucky’s actions, no matter what they may be, but he can’t stop himself from thinking that had he been more careful none of this would’ve happened.

Bucky just looked so good standing at the kitchen sink, soaked in sweat from his run, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. When he pulled his shirt up to wipe his face, revealing a stretch of skin on his lower back, Sam couldn’t help himself. He needed to feel Bucky’s bare, damp skin under his fingertips. He didn’t notice the earbuds or hear the music booming out of them until it was too late.

Suddenly there were metal fingers clutched tight around his throat and he was flat on his back, all the air knocked out of him. It took Bucky less than a second to realize what he’d done and who he’d done it to. The horrified look on his face was heartbreaking. Sam never wants to be responsible for that look again.

He hadn’t even gotten his breath back before Bucky was backing away, saying “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry” and disappearing out the front door.

Nobody’s heard from him since.

“I should go look for him,” Steve says.

Sam knows from personal experience - two years worth of it - that if Bucky doesn’t want to be found, he’s not going to be found. He puts the icepack he’s been holding to his head back in the freezer. 

“I think we should just give him some space,” he says. He doesn’t like it, wants to know that Bucky’s okay, wants to _tell_ Bucky it’s okay, that he’s okay, but he knows that’s probably not what Bucky wants right now, maybe not even what he needs. Bucky’s an adult and perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He’ll come back when he’s ready.

At least that’s what Sam keeps telling himself.

“You really love him,” Steve says. It sounds like a question.

“Yeah, I do,” Sam says. He means it.

Steve nods to himself.

“When we were kids, I loved staying at Bucky’s house,” he says. “There was nothing wrong with mine but Bucky’s… He had his parents and his sisters and it was always so loud. So full of life. _Bucky_ was so full of life.”

Sam’s not really sure why Steve’s telling him this. 

“The war changed him,” Steve continues. “Or maybe it was Zola, I don’t know. But he was different, a lot quieter.”

Steve’s looking at his feet. He looks… wracked with guilt. Like he thinks it’s his fault. Like there’s something he could’ve done. Sam knows that’s not true.

“It’s not your fault, Steve,” he says.

“Maybe I couldn’t have stopped what happened but I could’ve been there for him after.” 

Sam doesn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t there. He doesn’t know what it was like to be a Howling Commando. But he does know what it’s like to be a soldier, to be in the trenches, to feel the weight of war on your shoulders. He knows what it’s like to lie awake a couple feet from your best friend, to hear them cry into the dark, and not be able to do a damn thing about it. Because there’s nothing to do. There’s nothing that makes any of it okay. Of course war changed Bucky. It changes everybody.

Steve looks up at Sam. “He’s better with you. Sometimes I hear him laugh and I forget we’re not still kids in Brooklyn.”

Sam realizes Steve’s thanking him. Thanking him for every minute of Sam’s life he gave up to go after Bucky, for every time he put his life on the line cause Steve asked him to, for sticking around, for being the person Steve couldn’t be because he was too close to it. He’s thanking him and Sam knows he doesn’t deserve it. He’s not here because it’s the right thing to do. He’s here right now because he fell in love. 

He doesn’t say any of that though. It’s not what Steve needs to hear. Instead, he says, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve smiles. It’s an empty smile but it’s there. 

“Mythbusters?” Sam asks and Steve’s smile turns a little more genuine as he nods and heads to the couch. They might as well learn some shit while they’re waiting for Bucky to come home.

Sam really hopes they’re not waiting for nothing.

 

 

 

He wakes to the sound of low voices, murmurs he can’t make out. Steve’s not sitting next to him on the couch anymore and it’s dark outside. He looks around just in time to see Steve and Bucky pull away from each other, a “punk” tumbling out of Bucky’s mouth and a “jerk” from Steve’s.

Once Steve’s back in his room, Bucky walks over to where Sam’s sitting and crouches down in front of him. He lifts his fingers to Sam’s throat where Sam knows there’s noticeable bruising and the look of pain on his face is so agonized, so deep, Sam has to keep himself from looking away.

“It’s okay,” he says.

Bucky drops his head, shaking it. “It’s not.”

Sam lifts Bucky’s chin back up, forcing him to look at him. “I’m okay.”

Bucky’s eyes are filled with tears threatening to spill over. He covers Sam’s hand with his own and takes a shaky breath. “I’m gonna do better.”

Sam wants to tell him that he’s already doing so much better than anybody could possibly expect from him, that the way he’s pulled his life back together after everything that happened to him is a goddamn miracle. He wants to tell him that he’s never seen anyone try so hard, that he’s never been prouder, that even he still has moments like that, that the wrong sound still sets him off; the only difference is nobody ever made him into a lethal killing machine. 

“I asked Steve,” Bucky starts, then stops. He swallows and with a look of determination says, “I’m gonna do better.” 

Sam believes him.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (May 2021)**

“It’s all the other stuff. My wife, my kids, even my co-workers. They’re afraid of me, like they’re always walking on eggshells around me. That’s the worst part.”

The guy at the podium brings a tissue to his nose and blows. His hands are shaking and Sam can’t tell if it’s from an injury or just a physical side effect of his emotional turmoil. Maybe both. The guy walks back to his chair and the man running the group asks if anybody else would like to share.

Sam’s been coming to these meetings a lot lately. The nightmares… it’s like every time he thinks he gets a handle on them, they pop back up in full force. It feels like he hasn’t had a solid night of sleep in months.

And ever since his meeting with Trevor the other day, there’s been a weight on his chest. He walks up to the podium and introduces himself, then takes a deep breath. “I work at a high school now and the other day this kid tells me he wants to join up after graduation. He wants to be like me. He thinks I’m better for it.”

He pauses, takes a moment to collect his thoughts. He can tell just by the looks on the faces of the other veterans sitting before him, they already know exactly how he feels. They already know why this is troubling him.

“I’m a soldier,” he says. “That’s who I’m always going to be. I can’t change that, but it doesn’t mean I want to see someone else go down the same path.”

A lady in the front row is nodding her head. 

“I wouldn’t wish this burden on anybody. I chose to serve and that was my duty but this kid, he has his whole life ahead of him. I gave him the number to a recruitment office and it feels like I just signed his death sentence. Maybe worse.”

And that’s the heart of it, really. Sam’s seen what a sense of duty can lead to. He knows what the ugly side of following orders looks like. From Riley to Steve to Bucky. Even Rhodey. Their belief in honor’s brought them nothing but pain and suffering. Maybe it was worth it back in the forties when they were fighting a war that meant something, but not today. It’s the wrong war and Sam feels guilty. He feels guilty for his part in it, for making it out alive, for letting people believe he was making a difference, for letting _himself_ believe he was making a difference. He feels guilty that the worst thing he came back with was guilt.

He shakes his head. He doesn’t know how to say any of this but he can tell he doesn’t have to. They get it. They’re in the same place he is. They’re all here for a reason.

He sits back down and the guy next to him squeezes his shoulder. He’s a lot older than Sam, old enough to have served in Vietnam. It troubles Sam that all soldiers, no matter what war they fight, seem to come back with the same pain. He wonders why nobody’s learned yet, why they haven’t figured out how to do better yet.

When the meeting’s over he finds Natasha waiting outside for him. She doesn’t ask him about it, never does, but she has that look on her face- the one that says she’s concerned. 

“You ready?” she asks. She means _are you still up for this?_ At least once a week they get together and spar. It’s more for his benefit. She doesn’t need the practice or the work-out but she also has no idea how to express her emotions. It’s her way of bonding. The fact that she trusts Sam enough to teach him how to try and out-maneuver her says a lot about their friendship; that she recognizes that a VA meeting can be emotionally exhausting and checks to make sure Sam’s good is a sign of her personal growth.

“Yep,” Sam says. He’s exhausted but he’s also feeling restless. He’s kind of looking forward to getting his ass kicked. Maybe it’ll help him get some sleep tonight.

They walk to the gym together. They could go to Avenger’s Tower - Sam’s not forbidden from entering just because he didn’t sign the Accords - but there are always too many other people there. There’s a certain anonymity at this hole-in-the-wall gym, like they could be any two people off the street. They’re not Falcon and Black Widow here. They’re just Sam and Nat. Just two friends trying to kick each other’s asses.

While Sam’s wrapping his wrists, Natasha’s doing something on her phone, again. Her brows are knitted together and it looks like she’s grinding her teeth.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?” he asks.

She looks up, almost startled, like she forgot he was even there.

“Just trying to figure some things out before we’re in Wakanda,” she says, putting her phone in her bag.

Sam steps into the ring. “What kind of things?” 

He can tell she’s being deliberately evasive and that’s why he pries. If it was something he _couldn’t_ know, something classified, she would just say so. The fact that she’s downplaying whatever it is makes him want to know what’s going on even more.

“Just arrangements for the wedding,” she says, climbing into the ring after him.

He puts his fists up. “You and Steve better not be discussing my emotional well-being behind my back.”

“Not everything’s about you, Sam,” she says, and takes a swing.

He blocks it easily but the next thing he knows he’s on his back on the floor. He still hasn’t figured out how she does that.

“Until I have evidence to the contrary, I’m going to have to disagree,” Sam says, getting back up.

This time Natasha puts her fists up and he takes a swing. Again, he’s the one who ends up flat on the floor.

She holds her hand out to help him up. “How about this: if you can get me on the floor, I’ll give you my phone.”

Sam accepts the challenge and spends the next hour getting his ass handed to him. It’s good though. It takes his mind off the shit-show his life currently is. He doesn’t think about Trevor or Bucky or how he’s going to make it through two weeks in Wakanda at all. By the time they’re finished he’s soaked in sweat and breathing hard.

Even Natasha is downing a bottle of water. “Better luck next time,” she says, looking smug as hell.

Sam’s not even mad. It’s insane how good she is. She deserves every inch of that smug smile.

But he is worried about her. Something’s obviously going on and he’s not sure how many people she’s got around her that she can trust. Before she heads out for the night, he grabs her arm. 

“You know I’m here for you, right?” he says.

She furrows her brow. “Of course?”

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to go everything alone.”

“Sam-“ she starts, but he cuts her off.

“You’re allowed to have problems too, Nat.”

She smiles, one corner of her mouth turned up. “Everything’s okay. I promise.”

He’s not sure he believes her but he let’s it go. If it really does have anything to do with their trip to Wakanda, he’s going to find out in a couple weeks anyway. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay the next chapter should have Sam and Natasha finally touching down in Wakanda! Let the awkward slash painful slash uncomfortable slash heartbreaking reunions commence!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This chapter is a lot shorter than I wanted it to be but I ended up moving some stuff around for ~flow reasons and I still wanted this one to end where it does soooo hopefully the next one will be longer. But we're finally getting into it! We've made it to Wakanda! 
> 
> Warnings are the same as always: discussion of PTSD/guilt/etc.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! You guys have been super awesome and I love you all so much! I hope you enjoy it!!!!

**Present Day (June 10, 2021)**

“Here’s your coke and whiskey, sir.” The flight attendant leans over Natasha and hands Sam his drink.

Sam’s still mad that Nat booked them a trip for two whole weeks instead of just the few days the wedding stuff is actually taking place but at least she got them seats in first class. She says she used her frequent flyer miles but Sam’s pretty sure this is the first time she’s ever actually paid to fly anywhere. He’s not about to question it though.

He takes a sip of his cocktail and looks out the window. All he can see is blue: blue sky, blue water, blue nothingness. Nothing to distract him from thinking about what’s going to happen when they land. 

Natasha puts her hand over his where it’s resting on the arm of his seat. “Calm down. You’re making me nervous,” she says. 

“I am calm,” he shoots back and pulls his hand away. He’s not calm. He knows he’s fidgeting like a toddler in a dirty diaper but if he admits it, if he says it out loud, he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep it under control enough to get through this day, let alone the next two weeks. So he pretends. Fake it til you make it and what not.

“When was the last time you spoke to him?” Natasha asks. She’s not looking at him, pretending to be distracted by whatever she’s doing on her tablet but Sam knows her well enough now to know that it’s an interrogation technique: pretend not to be interested so the target feels compelled to _make_ you interested.

It’s not going to work on him.

“Who?” he asks, feigning ignorance.

She looks up at him, eyebrows raised. For someone who says she’s not interested in having kids, she sure has the whole are-you-done-with-your-tantrum-yet mom look down pat.

He takes a sip of his drink. He can wait her out. He’s a grown man. He doesn’t answer to her. 

“I just think that if you talk about it now, maybe it won’t be so hard once we get there,” she says. It’s very awkward. Sam has never seen a grown woman look so uncomfortable broaching the subject of feelings. It’s like she’s afraid he’s going to spill his all over her. It’s actually kind of hilarious and it makes him feel a little better knowing he’s not the only human disaster about to step foot on Wakandan soil.

When he doesn’t say anything she sighs but she looks relieved. “Your choice,” she says and goes back to whatever she was doing on her tablet.

Sam doesn’t have a tablet to keep him busy. What he does have is ten more hours of being in the air and mounting anxieties about what’s going to happen when they land. He starts rifling through the pouch on the back of the seat in front of him to see if he can find some sort of menu or guide, see if maybe there’s a movie he can watch to distract himself for a bit. Shoved in the back he finds a magazine, some weekly gossip tabloid. He pulls it out hoping that the absurdities of the rich and the famous will make him feel better about his sanity.

He doesn’t even get past page seven before coming across a story about “Perpetual Playboy Tony Stark” and “the blonde he’s been seen around town at several different hot spots with.” Sam can’t help but laugh. The picture only shows the back of her head but it’s definitely Sharon Carter and he’s willing to bet the “hot spots” are really just a single Starbucks. He wonders if these stories ever bother Pepper or if she has enough faith in Tony and their relationship to see through all the bullshit. 

He wonders if it’s even possible to see through all the bullshit.

After the little blurb about Tony and his new mystery lady, there’s nothing interesting. Sam hasn’t even heard of half the people in the magazine and he really couldn’t care less what legal troubles Justin Bieber’s facing this week. But he’s got nothing else to do. He keeps flipping until he comes to the crossword at the back. He forgot they put those in these kinds of magazines. It seems like forever since he’s done one. 

He wants to say he doesn’t remember the last time he did but that’d be a lie. Of course he remembers. He remembers everything. Every single moment he spent with the guy who broke his heart is etched into his brain. That’s the fucking problem. No matter what he does, he can’t escape him. He just wants to forget and move on with his life already.

He shoves the magazine back in the pouch and digs around in his carry-on for his Ambien. He’s probably going to regret sleeping through this flight when they touch down at 11pm and he’s wide awake but right now he just wants to close his eyes and forget everything about his existence.

 

* * *

 

**September 2019**

Sam’s phone buzzes just as he’s getting out of the shower. He’s excited for tonight. It’s been weeks since he’s spent any quality time with his boyfriend. Bucky’s been so busy between work and school that he leaves before Sam gets up, comes home after Sam does, and then when he does get home he usually ends up going straight to bed. Sam likes cuddling but he would like to actually spend time with his boyfriend while they’re both awake, maybe have an actual conversation with his face.

And tonight’s the night. Bucky doesn’t have to be up early in the morning and his class ends at a decent hour so it’s the perfect night for Sam to wine and dine him, maybe even get laid. Sam even went grocery shopping so that he could cook something that takes more than a microwave and five minutes. He wants this to be a good night. More than anything, he just really wants to be with Bucky. He’d settle for a night of standing in front of the refrigerator with the guy, as long as he’s wrapped up in his arms. 

Sam just really misses his boyfriend.

He swipes his phone off the dresser as he’s walking to the closet to pick out those jeans Bucky likes him in and presses the home button.

One message from Bucky.

He enters his passcode and pulls up the message:

>>Going to the library. Love you.

Sam’s stomach sinks. It’s not like Bucky’s bailing on him; he didn’t even know Sam wanted to spend the night together doing nothing. But still, Sam finds himself disappointed, maybe even a little hurt, that Bucky didn’t even consider it. He hasn’t spent any real time with Sam in weeks. Shouldn’t he miss him? At least a little?

Sam tosses his phone onto the bed and pulls on a pair of sweatpants; he’s not even sure if they’re clean. He spends the night eating ramen alone on the couch and staring at the television while Liam Neeson repeatedly rescues his fictional daughter from various European cities.

He can’t shake the feeling of loneliness that’s starting to grow in the pit of his stomach.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 10, 2021)**

Sam wakes a half hour before the plane begins its descent into Nairobi. He’s groggy and all he really wants to do is go back to sleep but he can’t tell if it’s because he’s actually tired or he’s just dreading this that much.

It’s dark outside the window but Sam can see a million little lights on the ground below, evidence that life continued on as usual after he left. Of course it did. It’s not like he expected any different. It just seems absurd to him that people can continue about their day, even when it feels like the whole world’s stopped dead in its orbit. 

When the wheels finally hit tarmac, Sam’s pulse starts to speed up. It’s a completely involuntary reaction and also a stupid one. It’s not like Bucky’s going to be waiting for him at the gates. Bucky probably doesn’t even know he’s here.

And even if he did…

Sam doesn’t want to think about it. He rubs his eyes and tries to shake some life back into himself as they shuffle off the plane.

Steve’s waiting for them at baggage claim, standing with his hands in his pockets and looking every bit the quiet and modest future-husband-of-a-king-and-nothing-more he’s undoubtedly fooled the world into believing he’s become. Sam can’t believe how much he’s missed him.

The hug Steve wraps him into says far more than the “It’s been too long” that tumbles out of his mouth. They hold onto each other long enough for Natasha to say, “Should we get you boys a room?”

Sam let’s go of Steve with a smile and says, “She’s not used to human interaction.”

Steve laughs and pulls her into his arms. She rolls her eyes but goes willingly. She loves Steve just as much as Sam does.

The drive from Nairobi to Wakanda takes several hours but it passes easily and Sam’s wide awake for it, the dread he felt dissipating the second he realizes nothing between him and Steve has changed.

Sam didn’t realize how much of his nerves came from also having to face Steve for the first time since he left. They’ve kept in touch, they talk regularly, but it’s not the same as actually being face-to-face, as being in the same place. Some part of him has always felt a little guilty for leaving Steve behind too and he’s never really been able to explain why he left, to convey why he couldn’t stay in Wakanda, even though his whole life was here. 

But now that he’s back here it feels like no time has passed at all. Steve is Steve and Sam is Sam and Nat is smiling fondly at her boys and their easy banter.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay with being the second best dressed dude at your own wedding, man,” Sam says from the backseat.

“You didn’t tell me you finally picked up some style,” Steve jokes.

“Oh that’s cold, and coming from the guy who can’t even buy a t-shirt in the correct size.”

Steve pretends to be offended. “Hey I look good. You don’t think I look good?”

Sam shrugs. “I mean I guess if you’re into that sort of thing. Muscles and all that.”

Steve laughs.

“Clint wants to know if this means you’re going to be the queen,” Nat asks, holding up her phone from the passenger seat.

Steve shakes his head. “Tell him that he’s not allowed to make jokes if he’s not coming.”

Nat starts typing on her phone.

“I’m here,” Sam says. “And I wanna know if this means you’re going to be the queen.”

Steve does that thing where he shakes his head because he’s embarrassed and he doesn’t know what else to do. “I’m not gonna be the queen,” he says. “I’m just T’Challa’s husband. I’m not royalty at all. I don’t have any authority or any say in what happens in Wakanda.”

“You’re the head of foreign relations. You have _some_ say in what happens,” Nat argues.

“That’s just my job. That has nothing to do with my marriage.”

“I can confirm that,” Sam says. “T’Challa just ignores anything Steve says that he doesn’t agree with anyway.” 

“Should we head back to the airport then?” Steve asks. He’s smiling and Sam’s smiling and he can’t see Nat’s face but he knows she’s smiling too. It’s been way too long since the three of them were together. He can’t believe he even considered not coming. 

“Seriously though,” Steve says, breaking into Sam’s thoughts. “Thanks for being here. It really means a lot to me.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Sam says and he means it. He really does.

 

* * *

 

**April 2018**

“All it means is that you’re not Captain America and Falcon anymore,” Natasha says. It’s her first time in Wakanda and she’s come all the way here just to tell them about the deal Tony brokered for them with the United States government.

“We’re not Captain America and Falcon right now. Tony has my shield and Sam’s wings,” Steve says. “How is this any different?”

“It’s not, really. The government has no right to your personhood. You can still do whatever you want, you just can’t do it as an Avenger. You just have to sign this, saying you agree to that, and all charges will be dropped. You’ll no longer be fugitives and you can come back any time you want. Any trouble you get in after, that’ll be on you. You’ll just be ordinary citizens with no more authority to cross boarders than any other person with a passport.”

“This is the same thing as not signing the Accords,” Steve says.

“Yes,” Nat agrees. “But you’ve already done that and look where it got you. This just clears your name. Just sign it, Steve.”

Steve looks back down at the paper. There’s something holding him back. It’s holding Sam back too. It seems too good to be true to just have all of their wrong-doings wiped clean and all they have to do is give up what’s already been taken from them anyway. It’s too easy.

“What’s the catch?” Sam asks.

Natasha doesn’t meet his stare. “No catch.”

Steve puts his pen down. “Nat?”

She clears her throat. “There’s no deal for Barnes.”

“Dammit, Romanoff,” Steve says.

“I know how you feel about him-” she starts but Steve cuts her off.

“This isn’t about my feelings, Nat. This is about you lying to me.”

“I didn’t lie to you.”

“You sure as hell didn’t tell me the whole truth.”

“Did you really think Tony was going to include him in this? He killed his parents,” she says.

“And how many parents do you think Tony’s weapons have killed?” Steve asks. He’s pissed. Sam’s seen him angry, seen him frustrated, but never like this. This is deep-seated; it’s personal. Sam almost feels like he’s missing something.

“Look, Steve. This is a start. This doesn’t mean Barnes will never get his name cleared. It just means that right now he has to stay in Wakanda,” Natasha says. She’s doing her best to be diplomatic but her entire body is screaming with tension. She’s not a politician or a negotiator; she’s a spy, through-and-through.

The door to the conference room they’re sitting in opens and Bucky walks in. The look on his face makes it clear he heard at least part of this conversation.

“You should sign it,” he says.

“Buck-” Steve starts.

“No. This is good, Steve. This is… you should take it.”

“I’m not leaving you behind,” Steve says.

“You don’t have to,” Bucky says. “But you shouldn’t have to stay here forever just because I can’t leave.”

The look on Steve’s face says he doesn’t want to be anywhere Bucky isn’t.

“Steve, just sign the damn paper,” Bucky insists.

Steve picks up the pen and holds Bucky’s gaze. They’re locked in a battle of will- Steve not wanting to fail Bucky again and Bucky insisting this is not that.

Steve tears his attention away, eyes falling on Sam. “What do you think?”

Sam’s been watching this whole argument play out and he has no idea what he actually thinks. Signing the agreement doesn’t mean they have to leave Wakanda, just that they can. But it still feels like abandoning Bucky. It still feels like they’re leaving a downed man behind.

He looks at Bucky and finds him staring back. His eyes are pleading, begging Sam to sign this. Sam’s not sure why this is so important to Bucky but if it’s what he wants, Sam will give it to him. It’s the least he can do.

“Give me a pen,” he says and the relief that seeps through Natasha as she hands him something to sign with is palpable.

After he signs his name, he looks up to find Bucky watching him. He gives Sam a reassuring smile and it feels like a thank you. Sam’s still not sure for what.

Later Bucky will tell him that he can’t be the thing holding them back from living their lives again, he can’t be the reason they’re stuck. He already feels responsible for wasting so much of their time. Sam wishes there was some way to make him understand that going after him, that fighting for him is the one thing Sam doesn’t regret; it’s the only thing he’s done with his life that he knows beyond any shadow of doubt was the right choice.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 11, 2021)**

Sam definitely should not have slept on the plane. It’s four in the morning and he’s wide awake, lying in bed, just staring up at the ceiling. It’s weird being back at the palace. He lived here once, though very briefly, but this feels different. Probably because it is different now, everything is. Also probably because he can’t make his brain just turn the hell off already.

He decides there’s no point in even trying and gets up to go for a run. He might as well burn off some of this excess energy and maybe his brain will even be able to work through some of its shit. He always seems to process stuff best when he’s doing mundane activities that don’t require too much of his attention span, just enough that he’s not actively thinking about anything else.

He decides to run his old route: past the school, through the town square, up and over the ridge just to the edge of the forest and back, but in reverse since the palace is on the cliff overlooking the forest. He figures it’s early enough for him to avoid any unwanted encounters and he can easily bypass his old apartment without going too far off course. Not that it really matters. He has no idea if his ex is even still living there. And even if he is, it’s not likely he’s out sitting on his patio at this hour.

Still, Sam can’t bring himself to do anything but circumvent the possibility. It’s not hard. He knows this place like the back of his hand. It almost feels like home still.

He starts breaking a sweat about two miles in and that’s when his mind really starts to wander but it doesn’t go where he expects it to. He finds himself thinking about Trevor, wondering if he went to see that recruitment officer Sam put him in touch with. It bothers Sam that he’s probably never going to know what happens to this kid. He just graduated so Sam’s probably never going to see him again and he has no legal authority to look at any of his records past his time at the high school. He can’t help but imagine all the terrible possibilities for his future. He’s scared that one day he’s going to walk into a VA support group and find Trevor sitting there, eyes vacant and thoughts far away, burdened with a lifetime of surviving.

Sam’s thoughts drift to Riley and all the things he’s missing out on. Not even the big things like getting married and having two and a half kids and buying a house for them to grow up in, but the little stuff: the frustration of spilling coffee on your favorite shirt or realizing you’re out of toilet paper after it’s too late; the moment of joy in hearing your favorite song come on the radio and looking over to see the person in the car next to you singing at the top of their lungs; the banality of having to change your toothbrush every two months and remembering to take the trash out once a week. It’s all the little things that make up a life, all the moments in between the big stuff, that get to Sam. Those are the things he has trouble understanding why he gets to experience them when countless others don’t, when Riley doesn’t. It just seems so ridiculous to him.

He wonders when that’s supposed to get easier. Because it should, right? He shouldn’t be spending the rest of his life looking across the room for someone who isn’t there just to see if they caught the joke. He shouldn’t be reaching for his phone, ready to type out a text message to someone who won’t be receiving it. He shouldn’t be running through the dark of the early morning, feet pounding on the pavement, half-expecting there to be someone there next to him, keeping pace and pushing him on.

It’s so fucking ridiculous Sam can’t breathe with it. He comes to a stop just outside the town square and wants to scream, wants to expel every ounce of breath from his lungs, but there’s nothing left to force out. So he sits down on the pavement with his head between his knees and waits til he can breathe again, til he feels like he can face another minute of this cruel joke that is his continued existence. 

The sun’s just starting to peak over the horizon by the time he feels like getting back up. It’s still dark but the little bit of light there is casts an orange glow over the town, and Sam’s taken with how beautiful this place is. Some of the shops are already opening up, soft light streaming out of their windows, and Sam feels instantly comforted, like maybe he’s not the only one who’s not in on the joke, like maybe everyone else is suffering their way through it too.

He’s about to turn around and start heading back when he hears the little bell on the door to the coffee shop jingle and instinctively turns his head toward it. Immediately he feels the wind get knocked out of him. There’s Bucky Barnes, walking out of the shop, coffee cup in hand, holding the door open for the lady trying to enter just as he’s leaving.

It’s dark but he’s unmistakable. Sam would know that face anywhere. And he can see that face perfectly because Bucky cut his hair. Sam barely has time to process any of it before he’s turning around and making his way back to the palace. He’s too exhausted, too pissed, too everything to even begin to deal with this. Whatever feelings he’s going to have about Bucky Barnes, they’re going to have to wait.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr at [bisexualbcky.](http://bisexualbcky.tumblr.com/) I'm using the tag [#attpmct](http://bisexualbcky.tumblr.com/tagged/attpmct) for this story.
> 
> Also, I promised I'd make a playlist so you guys can make fun of me. I hate 8tracks with every fiber of my being so I'm trying hypster. You can find that [here.](http://hypster.com/playlists/user/bisexualbcky?7189832)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you’re following me on tumblr you might have seen me complaining about being in tons of pain, which lead to me writing at least half of this while under the influence so… sorry if it doesn’t make any sense ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> "The Incident" refers to January 2017 when Sam sneaks up behind Bucky and Bucky throws him to the floor.
> 
> Warnings: note the change in rating. Some implied D/s.
> 
> I'm still making fun of Sebastian over on tumblr at [bisexualbcky.](http://bisexualbcky.tumblr.com/) I'd love for you to come say hi. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Present Day (June 11, 2021)**

Positives: Sam’s morning run and minor breakdown exhausted him enough that he was able to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow back at the palace. Negatives: he saw his ex-boyfriend for the first time in a year and a half and now that he’s awake and has regained actual cognitive function, it’s the only thing he can think about.

It’s late morning and he’s sitting outside in the gardens with Steve and Natasha having brunch. Cause that’s what grown-ups do. They have brunch and discuss each other’s upcoming nuptials because they have upcoming nuptials because they are living their lives. Like grown-ups do.

Steve says something about Wakandan traditions and Nat says something that makes her voice go up at the end so it must be a question but Sam doesn’t really hear any of it. He’s too focused on the person that was walking out of the coffee shop this morning.

That person was definitely Bucky Barnes, but not a version of him Sam’s ever known. His hair was cut short, closer to the pictures Sam’s seen of him from back in the forties, and he was wearing navy scrubs. Which, okay, Sam knew that was a thing that was probably going to happen. He just… he wasn’t prepared to see it for himself. He wasn’t prepared to have actual visual proof that Bucky continued on with his life after Sam left, that he accomplished all his goals, that he finished school and became a nurse, just like he planned.

Good for him.

Sam doesn’t feel bitter about it at all.

Or he’s at least trying really hard to be a better person than that.

He’s a work in progress.

But why’d Bucky cut his hair? What was the point of that? It’s like he’s an entirely different person now. It’s like he’s a stranger, someone Sam’s never met. Maybe if Sam hadn’t unfollowed, unfriended, and unsubscribed from him on every social media platform possible, he might have been prepared for this. Maybe if he hadn’t insisted on cutting Bucky out of every corner of his life this wouldn’t have come as such a shock and he’d be able to do more than shove a forkful of waffles in his mouth while agonizing over the physical appearance of the guy right now.

But if he didn’t do that, if he hadn’t shielded himself from the constant daily reminder of Bucky’s continued existence in the world, Sam probably would’ve lost his mind. He never would’ve been able to pull himself up off the floor and start rebuilding his life.

Not that he’s really made that much progress as it is. Sure he found himself a job that he loves and a great apartment, and he’s got some amazing friends. But it’s not like he’s got his life together. He’d never admit it out loud but he doesn’t think it’s really a secret that he hasn’t moved on.

But honestly who can blame him? Bucky is basically the most hauntingly gorgeous human being to walk the planet. It might’ve been dark out and Sam was probably slightly delirious at the time but there’s no mistaking that bone structure, those cheek bones and piercing eyes, the polite smile that’s actually genuine when he held the door open for that lady.

And the scrubs didn’t exactly hide the layer of muscle lying underneath the fabric. Sam can picture exactly what Bucky’s thighs look like when he sits down, the loose fabric of the navy pants pulled tight against the thick muscles of his legs splayed open. Sam can imagine exactly what Bucky’s thighs would feel like under his hands…

And this is exactly why Sam has been avoiding all things Bucky Barnes for the last year and a half. Because no matter how much the guy hurt him, no matter how angry slash hurt slash upset Sam is, Bucky’s still the most devastatingly attractive person Sam has ever seen; and Sam still remembers exactly what it feels like to have Bucky’s hands on him, to have all of Bucky’s attention focused on him, to have Bucky doing everything in his power to make Sam feel good.

It’s not the kind of thing a person forgets easily. 

 

* * *

 

**February 2017**

Bucky hasn’t fucked Sam, _really_ fucked him, in over three weeks. Ever since The Incident he’s been treating Sam like a porcelain doll, like he’s going to break into a million tiny little pieces if he even touches him. The overly gentle brushes of fingertips are one thing when they’re moving around each other in the kitchen, but not in bed. Sam cannot handle this boring in-out-in-out, back-forth-back-forth bullshit much longer. He needs to get _fucked_. And he needs Bucky to be the one to do it. He’s honestly not even sure how Bucky’s maintaining an erection. This is the worst sex anyone’s ever had.

Okay that is categorically not true. Not even close to true. But it is definitely the worst sex _they’ve_ ever had and that’s a damn shame because they’re usually amazing at it.

Bucky pulls back a little to get a hand between them. He wraps his metal fingers around Sam’s flagging erection and starts to stroke it but Sam can already tell it’s not going to work. None of this is going to work, not like this.

He reaches down and pulls Bucky’s hand up to his throat, using his own fingers to press Bucky’s down into the flesh of his neck. Bucky stills inside of him immediately. He’s staring back at Sam, almost like he’s afraid, like he’s not sure if any of this okay. 

Sam bears down on Bucky inside of him, trying to convey this is what he wants, causing Buckyto take a shaky breath, but he doesn’t start moving. He’s still looking at Sam, still waiting for something.

Sam presses Bucky’s fingers into his throat again and says, “Please. I need-”

He’s cut off when Bucky tightens his grip, not enough to truly hurt Sam, but enough to make him feel it. Bucky’s eyes light up and when Sam starts moving his hips, he sees the flicker of a smile cross Bucky’s lips as he moves to hold Sam’s hips down with his other hand.

He’s looking at Sam with hunger in his eyes, breath heavy with the strain of holding himself back. The only thing Sam can do is say it again. “Please.” 

It works. Bucky starts thrusting, deep and deliberate, and finally _finally_ it feels like it’s actually _Bucky_ inside of him. It’s the first time Bucky’s touched him like he means it in what feels like forever and Sam is quickly overwhelmed by every point of contact between their bodies. His eyes flutter shut as Bucky picks up the pace. The weight of him holding Sam down, of being fucked into the mattress, is unbelievable.

Sam gets his hands in Bucky’s hair, right at the base of his skull, and pulls. Bucky groans and fucks into Sam harder, hand flying up to grip the headboard, giving him leverage to thrust even deeper.

Sam’s never felt this full in his life. Every nerve ending in his body is singing, begging for more. He pulls Bucky’s face to his, pressing their lips together. It’s sloppy and it’s wet but it’s good, it’s so good; it’s exactly what Sam needs.

Suddenly Bucky pulls back, sliding out. Sam’s about to protest when Bucky taps his hip, letting Sam know he wants him on his stomach. Sam complies, rolling over, and Bucky immediately pulls him up onto his knees, then positions himself behind Sam. He sits back on his heels and guides Sam down onto him, all the way until Sam’s sitting on his cock, completely bottomed out. He pulls Sam up, flush against his chest, metal hand going right back up to his throat, and whispers, “I got you, baby.”

It’s the hottest thing Sam’s ever heard. Bucky’s never called him anything but “Wilson” ever and here he is, balls deep, hand gripped loosely around his throat, calling him _baby_ and letting him know he’s going to take care of him. Sam could get off on those words alone.

Bucky starts moving his hips. The position only allows for him to pull out about half an inch but every time he pushes back in, his dick rubs right up against Sam’s prostate, and Sam is so close to coming. Of course that’s when Bucky stops thrusting. Sam whines and Bucky kisses his shoulder, right at the base of his neck.

“Shhh,” he says. “I got you.”

He runs his hand up and down Sam’s side, soothing him, then starts moving his hips again. As soon as Sam’s back at the edge, about to spill over, Bucky stops moving. Again, Sam whines and Bucky soothes him. After repeating this for what feels like hours, Bucky finally wraps his hand around Sam and slowly starts to pull him off. Everything feels so intense and Sam’s pretty sure the only thing keeping him upright at this point is Bucky’s hand around his throat. He starts to grind down on Bucky as Bucky works his hand up and down. He’s so close, almost there, doesn’t want Bucky to stop…

“It’s okay, baby,” Bucky says. “You can come for me.”

Sam’s orgasm bursts through him, white hot pleasure traveling throughout his body all the way down to the tips of his toes; even his scalp is tingling.

Bucky strokes him through it, kisses his neck, murmurs sweet-little-nothings about how good Sam did, all the while holding him up. When Sam finally regains coherency and asks, “What about you?” Bucky just whispers, “I’m okay.”

Sam does not like that. He just had what is probably the best orgasm of his life and Bucky’s just “okay”? Nope.

He shakes his head and starts trying to lift himself up so he can sink back down and get Bucky off too but he’s still too sensitive and he can barely take it.

Luckily, Bucky’s a lot stronger than he is and holds him in place. “In a minute,” he whispers. He’s got his metal arm splayed diagonally across Sam’s chest now, keeping him upright, while his other hand comes up to cup his cheek, guiding Sam to look back at him.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he says and kisses him. It’s soft but it doesn’t take long to turn heated, for Sam’s sensitivity to fade so he can start moving his hips, start grinding down on Bucky’s cock. This time Bucky let’s him, encourages him, and eventually he’s pushing Sam down onto his elbows and fucking into him relentlessly. It doesn’t take long for Sam to reach his climax again and Bucky fucks him right through it, finding his own.

He collapses on top of Sam, panting and spent, and Sam doesn’t ever want him to move.

Later, after they’ve cleaned off and are lying together in bed, Bucky says, “We need a safe word.”

Sam’s surprised, but only a little. It’s not so much that Bucky brought it up or that it’s something he’d like to have, but that he even knows what it is. It’s not like Hydra ever gave him the choice to opt out of anything.

“Okay,” he says because he wants Bucky to be completely comfortable in everything they do. But he needs to make sure Bucky knows that he’s comfortable too, that he _likes_ what they do. “You know I trust you, right?”

Bucky takes Sam’s hand and brings it to his lips. “I know,” he says against Sam’s fingers, lips brushing lightly against them.

If someone had told him a year ago that he’d be lying in bed with Bucky Barnes, completely overwhelmed by how _good_ he is, Sam would’ve had them committed. And now here he is, trying to find a way to make sure Bucky feels as warm and taken care of and safe as he makes Sam feel.

“Volkswagen,” he says. It’s the first thing that comes to mind.

There’s a second of silence before Bucky starts laughing. “I was gonna say ‘seahorse,’” he says. 

Sam can’t help the smile that crosses his face. “Only if you never wanna have sex again.”

“Volkswagen it is,” Bucky says.

Sam can’t believe how happy he is.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 11, 2021)**

“Sam?”

Sam’s pulled from his thoughts to find Steve and Natasha staring at him.

“You up for it?” Steve asks.

Sam has no idea what he’s talking about it. He hasn’t heard a word either of them have said all morning but he’s not about to tell them that. Then he’d have to explain why he’s so distracted and he’d rather not have that conversation. Ever. “Yeah sure,” he says. 

“Great. We’ll leave at seven,” Steve says. He looks pleased. “Now I have to go take care of some stuff. Have to get everything ready for when T’Challa get’s back from Mozambique. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Steve leaves and Sam feels even more lost. What the hell did he just agree to?

Natasha is looking at him, clearly aware he has no idea what’s going on if the look of unadulterated amusement on her face is anything to go by.

“You just agreed to go on a fishing trip tomorrow. With a hike and everything,” she says, full of glee. “At seven a.m.”

Sam groans and rubs his eyes. Why the hell would they go fishing? He’s never been fishing in his life and he’s not entirely certain Steve wouldn’t cry at the sight of a struggling fish trapped on a hook. Sam understands nothing about anything that happens anymore.

“Great,” he says, though his tone makes it clear he thinks it’s anything but. “What are we doing today?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing but I have plans.” She takes a sip of her mimosa. She looks… happy. Not that she doesn’t usually but this is different. There’s a calmness to it, an ease. It’s just there, a part of her morning, and she’s not even trying to hide it. Or maybe she’s not even aware. Maybe she has no idea she’s glowing.

Sam has got to know what’s got her smiling like that. “Who do you have plans with? You don’t even know anybody here.”

She smirks as she pushes her chair back to stand up. “I get around,” she says and leaves him sitting alone at the table.

He’s not even mad. Her quiet contentment is contagious. He finds himself smiling after her. He really does love when his friends are happy.

The only problem is now he has a whole afternoon ahead of him with no plans, nothing to distract him from fixating on Bucky. Which is the exact opposite of how he would like to spend his day.

Luckily, he _does_ know people here. A lot of them. Maybe he can go annoy some of his old co-workers. And by annoy he means bless them with his presence.

He decides to walk instead of taking a car; he can eat up more time that way. Plus, Wakanda really is a beautiful place, even now that the sun is up and illuminating every aspect of the capital. It’s so clean. And not just in comparison to back home. Everything’s clean in comparison to New York City. It’s clean in the truest sense of the word. There’s minimal pollution and the natural plant life is thriving. Every single piece of trash is safely in a garbage can and the infrastructure is well-kept. It’s a sign of the way the country’s always been run- the government takes care of its citizens and, in return, the citizens take care of the country. Of course the advanced state of the technology coming out of the country doesn’t hurt either, but Sam believes even that comes down to the respect the government gives the people of Wakanda. They’re able to thrive because T’Challa and all his predecessors have given them the opportunity to. It’s something the rest of the world hasn’t figured out yet.

Which is a shame because it’s a great model. Even Sam felt the effects while he was living here. It’s how he was so easily able to get a job that paid enough to support himself. He feels a little bad that he quit so suddenly, especially after all the time and energy they put into training him and cultivating his skills but he knows there was no shortage of other qualified people to fill his position. And whoever did take his job probably actually wanted it. It was a good job but it was just a job to Sam. His heart was never in it.

And it’s not that he thinks everyone has to love their job. Sometimes a job’s just a job and that’s okay. But for Sam… he just always felt unfulfilled. He didn’t even realize how little it gave him until he started working at the high school. 

It takes him about forty-five minutes to get to his old office but only because he makes a detour to pick up a round of coffee. Amazingly, he remembers everyone’s order and he throws in a couple extra cappuccinos for whoever they’ve hired in the year and a half since he left. It’s a good thing he’s got long arms to balance those little carrier trays on.

When he walks in the door the first person he sees is Aleela, his old boss. As soon as she notices him, she stands up straighter and crosses her arms. “Well, if it isn’t Mister Sam Wilson himself,” she says. The crease between her brows quickly gives way to a smile as she says, “How nice of you to bless us with your presence.”

Sam’s missed her. “My presence _and_ coffee,” he says, proffering one of the trays.

She takes it and sets it down, then pulls him into a hug. “How have you been? I worry about you, you know.”

“I’ve been good,” he says. “Don’t I look good?”

She pulls back and takes his face in her hands. “You look thin,” she says. It reminds him of his mom when she was still alive and Sam is hit with a wave of affection. Aleela was a great boss and an even better person. He never did thank her for that.

“Come, tell me about your life in New York,” she says, grabbing the hazelnut latte out of one of the trays.

Sam follows her back to her office, delivering coffee and saying hello to his former coworkers as they go. Once they’re back in Aleela’s office, he tells her about the high school and his sister and his gorgeous little niece. He tells her about his apartment and karaoke night at the bar around the corner and the nightmare that is New York traffic. He doesn’t tell her about the actual nightmares or the loneliness or the soul-crushing fear that he’s made too many mistakes he’ll never be able to repent for.

When he’s finished talking, she says, “And that boy? The one with the sad eyes?”

She’s talking about Bucky. He knows she’s talking about Bucky and she knows that he knows that. Still, he plays dumb. “Boy? I don’t remember any… I don’t, you know, I don’t know who you mean.”

“Sam Wilson,” she chastises. “You loved that boy.”

She says it with such conviction, such certainty. She says it like it’s a good thing, like watching what they had crash and burn was worth it just because Sam loved him. Maybe she’s right. Maybe she understands something about life that Sam doesn’t. She definitely understands the world better than he does. But still, he’s having trouble seeing the good buried beneath all the ashes.

“Will you see him?” she asks. “You’re here to celebrate the King’s marriage, yes? And Mr. Barnes will be there too?”

Of course she actually knows his name. 

Sam nods.

“And what will you say to him?” she asks. There’s another question in there, one that Sam can’t quite parse out, and he’s not sure how to answer.

She smiles at him. It’s kind, reassuring, the kind of smile that let’s him know it’s okay that he’s lost and confused and not at all as okay as he told her he was.

“He works at the hospital now,” she says.

Sam probably could’ve guessed that from the scrubs but there’s something about hearing it confirmed out loud… it does something to his stomach. He swallows and looks anywhere but at Aleela. He hopes she doesn’t see right through him.

“The kids love him,” she says and that catches Sam’s attention. He can’t help the way his eyes dart right back to hers, questioning.

She nods once. “Pediatrics.”

And that’s… wow. That’s a lot to digest. Bucky with kids. Every single day. Taking them when they’re sick and giving them back all better.

Sam knew Bucky was going to be a nurse. That’s what he’d been working so hard towards but he’d never said anything about a speciality. Sam has no idea if Bucky had this in mind the whole time or if it just sort of happened. 

Either way, he can’t help but notice the juxtaposition. There used to be a time when Bucky made sure people’s parents never came home. Now he’s fixing kids up and sending them back to their families.

Sam wonders if Tony is as up-to-date on Bucky’s current life situation as Sam now is.

He wonders if it really even matters when it’s that personal.

Mostly he wonders why this news is hitting him so hard.

After that Aleela drops the subject, like she knows Sam’s not really ready for it, and tells him all about her life, about the company and the woman she hired to replace him. By the time she’s sending Sam on his way, making him promise he’ll come back around before he leaves again, the sun’s already setting. He stops at a cafe on his walk back for some dinner, then goes back to the palace and straight to bed. He’s exhausted and he has to be up early to go fishing.

 

* * *

 

**August 2018**

“How do you guys even have this much stuff?” Steve asks, hands on his hips. He’s surveying all of the boxes and furniture he just helped Sam and Bucky move into their new apartment. It’s all shoved into the living room.

He’s right. There’s a _lot_ of stuff. It doesn’t even make sense. Neither of them are the type of people to hoard stuff and they came to Wakanda with nothing more than a couple bags. How did they possibly accumulate this much crap in a couple of years? Unpacking is going to be a nightmare.

“Well I’m gonna let you guys get to it,” Steve says. What he means is: I’m going to go before you try to make me help deal with this mess.

Sam doesn’t blame him. If he didn’t have to live here he’d take off too. The fact that he can’t even identify a starting point is giving him anxiety. And he doesn’t even know where Bucky is; he can’t see him. He could be trapped beneath a pile of boxes and Sam wouldn’t even know it until his decomposing body started to smell.

“Babe?” he calls out. 

Bucky walks out of the bedroom. He looks perfectly calm and not at all overwhelmed. What the hell? Does he not see the disaster zone that is their new apartment? When he notices the look of what must be abject horror on Sam’s face, he smiles. Probably because he’s an asshole and finds Sam’s suffering amusing. Sam doesn’t know. He can’t think clearly when there’s this much clutter.

“What do we do?” Sam asks, gesturing at the contents of their life, stock-piled in the space between where they’re each standing.

Bucky looks in the box closest to him. “This is kitchen stuff,” he says. “Why don’t you take this one and start there.”

Okay, yes, Sam can do that. He takes the box from Bucky and goes to the kitchen. It makes sense for him to be the one to unpack this since he does most of the cooking. This way he can have everything where he likes it. He looks at the contents of the box, then opens a few drawers and cabinets, trying to decide where he wants everything to go. By the time he figures out a set-up he likes, the sun is setting. He didn’t realize how dark it had gotten. 

He goes to flick the lights on but nothing happens. He plays with the switch a few times but it’s no use. The bulb must be burned out.

“Babe,” he says, walking back out to the living room. “Do we have any light…”

His voice fades out as he takes in the room. Only half the boxes remain and the ones that do are illuminated by dozens of flickering candles. Bucky’s lighting the last one.

“I think we forgot to get the power turned on,” he says, and yes, now that he’s said it, Sam realizes that’s definitely something they forgot to do. Apparently they’re going to be living in squalor from now on.

But only kind of because thanks to Bucky’s unparalleled ability to unpack in an organized manner and all the candles he’s lit, it doesn’t look half bad. It actually looks sort of nice, kind of like a dream.

“How’s the kitchen?” Bucky asks, setting the lighter down on top of one of the boxes.

Sam thinks about the still half-full box sitting on the kitchen floor. “It’s getting there.”

Bucky laughs. “Oh is it?”

“Yes,” Sam says and crosses his arms, defensive.

Bucky raises his eyebrows and points to a stack of boxes that have been pushed over by the doorway to the kitchen. “That’s all of our kitchen stuff.”

And okay, yeah, that’s a fair point, but still. Sam is Sam so he says, “Hey it’s a process. You have to make sure things go in the right place, you know, cause efficiency and ergonomics and-”

Bucky walks over to him and kisses his cheek. “You suck at moving,” he says.

He’s right, moving is obviously not Sam’s forte, but Sam still retaliates with an attempted sack tap. He doesn’t feel bad about it because he’s never, not once, been quick enough to actually pull it off; and now like always, Bucky catches his wrist just in time, and uses it to pull Sam up against his chest, wrapping his other arm around Sam’s lower back.

“You’re so mean to me,” he says as he slides his hand up from Sam’s wrist to lock their fingers together.

“You’re an asshole,” Sam responds but there’s no heat behind it. He’s melting into Bucky’s body, wrapping his free arm around Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky hums and starts swaying them back and forth. It feels nice, feels peaceful after a day of moving and chaos. Sam closes his eyes and forgets all the boxes and all the clutter. He feels Bucky’s hand slip from his back and whines at the loss of contact. Bucky doesn’t say anything but soon Sam hears the dreamy opening notes of _At Last,_ followed by Etta James’ soulful voice, fill the quiet of the apartment. It’s one of Sam’s favorite’s songs. His parents used to dance around the house to it when he was little. He doesn’t remember ever telling Bucky that.

“You’re gonna drain your battery,” he says.

Bucky shrugs and returns his hand to the curve of Sam’s back. “Wilson?” he says.

“Hmm?”

Bucky kisses the side of his head. “You smell terrible.”

“Fuck you,” Sam says, voice muffled by his shoulder.

“Not until you take a shower,” Bucky says but he doesn’t let go. He just keeps holding Sam, swaying their bodies back and forth to the music, as the candlelight dances around them. Sam doesn’t say it, but he can tell this is one of those nights he’s going to remember for the rest of his life. He burrows his face in Bucky’s neck and Bucky tightens his grip. Sam doesn’t even care about all the boxes they still have to unpack or the lack of electricity anymore. He can’t imagine a more perfect first night alone, just the two of them, in their new apartment. 

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 12, 2021)**

It is too fucking early. It is too early to do anything but it is definitely way too early to go fishing. Seriously, why are they doing this? Why does Steve hate Sam? Hatred is the only possible explanation for whatever this is. They are _hiking_. Steve took Sam out at seven in the freaking morning and he is making him hike. To go _fishing_. This is the meanest thing Steve has ever done to Sam. This has got to be payback for something.

Of course Steve’s super soldier ass is hardly breaking a sweat. They’ve been hiking up what can barely even be considered a trail in the middle of the freaking jungle and Steve’s still got a smile on his face, while Sam’s lungs feel like they’re about to collapse.

“We’re almost there,” Steve says and honestly, Sam doesn’t care. He’d be okay with Hydra showing up and flinging him off the side of this mountain-hill-cliff-whatever-the-hell-it-is right about now. 

What feels like hours later but is probably ten minutes tops, Steve comes to a stop and says, “We’re here.”

Sam drops the backpack Steve made him carry to the ground and collapses on the closest rock, panting. “I hate you,” he gasps out.

Steve chuckles and what the hell? None of this is funny. What is he even looking at? Sam follows Steve’s gaze and turns around to see what he’s looking at and… okay, yeah, that is… that is definitely something.

There’s a small lake with crystal clear water being fed into by a waterfall on the opposite side. The water is sparkling where the sun hits it, and there’s a soft rainbow forming at the base of the waterfall. It’s breathtaking. And it’s completely secluded. There’s a solid wall of rock on either side of the waterfall, and the trees from the jungle enclose it the rest of the way. Sam wonders how it’s possible that he lived here for so many years and never knew this place existed.

Steve drops the backpack he’s been carrying and pulls off his shirt, then his shoes, and finally his pants. 

“I thought we were fishing,” Sam says.

Steve looks at him with a smile. “I don’t know how to fish,” he says, then runs into the water.

This is not the day Sam was expecting at all but it’s definitely a step up so he strips down to his boxers and runs in after Steve. The water is freezing, like holy shit, but it feels sort of nice after however many hours of trekking through the trees, and his body adjusts to it quickly.

“Why’d you say we were going fishing?” Sam asks when he swims out close enough to Steve.

“I knew you weren’t paying attention,” Steve tells him, easily treading water. “Didn’t you think the lack of poles was kind of a giveaway?”

“I was too busy dying on the climb up to notice.”

Steve looks around. “It’s not that bad.”

“Maybe not for Captain America,” Sam says, knowing full-well the moniker still carries the same connotation it always did, even if Steve doesn’t carry the shield. “How’d you find this place anyway?”

“T’Challa brought me here.”

That makes sense. T’Challa probably knows every single inch of his country like the back of his hand. Sam can picture him leading Steve up here and surprising him with a picnic. It’s cute, romantic, the perfect little date spot.

“Why’d you bring _me_ here?” Sam asks. “I’m flattered but I could never forgive myself for coming between you two.”

Steve laughs and splashes water at Sam. “Did you have anything better to do?”

“Fair enough,” Sam says.

They spend the next few hours alternating between swimming and lying out in the sun, sharing stories from the past year and a half they’ve been apart. Steve sounds more in love with T’Challa than ever. He seems more than just happy too; he seems _content_ , like he’s finally carved a place out in the world for himself, like he’s finally found peace. It’s good. It’s like he’s actually breathing for the first time since Sam met him. 

“You seem happy,” Sam says, as they sit side-by-side on a rock, looking out over the water.

Steve squints and cocks his head to the side like he’s trying to decide if that’s true, then nods. “I am. I’m gonna marry the person I love and all my closest friends are gonna be there to see it. Can’t ask for much more.”

“No you cannot,” Sam agrees.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course, man.”

Steve turns to look at him. “I mean it. I know this is probably going to be awkward for you.” 

Sam shrugs. “It’s just one day, right?”

“About that…”

“What’d you do, Steve?”

Steve lifts his hands in surrender. “I didn’t do anything.”

Sam levels him with a glare.

“It’s just that he’s probably going to be around before the wedding. I can’t just tell him not to come by because you’re already there.”

He’s right and Sam knows he’s right. But he doesn’t have to like it. He’s allowed to be eternally frustrated with the fact that Bucky Barnes is inescapable. 

Sam sighs. “It’s fine.”

It’s not really but he’ll make it. Besides he’s got Steve and Nat, and T’Challa will be back soon. And eventually Tony and Pepper will be here and then nobody will even be paying attention to Sam. It’ll be alright. Probably.

“I still don’t really know what happened between you two,” Steve says, “but I know what it was like after you left.”

He doesn’t elaborate and Sam doesn’t ask him to. He has no clue what went down here after he returned to New York and he doesn’t want to. It wouldn’t change what he went through those first few months. Knowing if Bucky had as hard a time as he did, or if he just simply continued on with his life like nothing happened, it wouldn’t make a damn difference.

They spend another twenty minutes drying off in the sun before heading back down. The hike back is a breeze compared to the climb up and they make it back to the palace around three in the afternoon, but Sam’s still exhausted and decides to take a nap. They have plans to go out to one of the local bars later tonight since T’Challa will be back and Sam’s not sure he’ll be able to last that long without some sleep.

 

* * *

 

**March 2020**

Sam runs his hand over the faux-granite counter tops. They’re nice, it’s nice, it’s all very nice. Everything about this apartment is perfectly nice. There’s nothing wrong with it. Except the fact that it’s in New York City and Sam is the only one who will be living in it and everything about it is completely wrong.

“So what do you think?” his sister asks, her voice echoing through the empty space. He can tell she’s ready to get rid of him. It was nice having him there at first, having someone to help with the newborn but now that she’s got it all figured out he’s just in the way.

He doesn’t blame her. If their situations were reversed, if she was the one sleeping on his couch, he’d be annoyed too. 

“It’s fine,” he says.

“Fine enough to sign the lease?” she asks. “The manager said you can move in as early as this weekend.”

She’s so hopeful, so ready for him to be out of her hair. And she’s already done enough for him.

“Yeah I’ll take it,” he says with a smile he knows doesn’t reach his eyes.

She mirrors it, understanding, but she lets him sign the lease anyway.

He moves in that weekend, not that there’s much to move. He doesn’t really have many belongings here. He left everything back in Wakanda.

The place is so empty. Every little thing he does, every tiny sound he makes, creates an echo that chimes throughout the entire space, reminding him just how alone he is. It’s been months but some part of him was still hoping that one day his phone would ring, Bucky’s name lighting up the screen, and he’d answer it and Bucky would tell him to come back, that he shouldn’t have let Sam go, that he can’t live without him.

Sam realizes now how foolish he was for holding on to any hope. They’re over. Bucky’s never going to tell him it was a mistake because it wasn’t a mistake. They don’t belong together. They weren’t happy and the last few years have been a waste.

Sam takes out his phone and pulls up his contacts. He taps Bucky’s name and stares, thumb hovering over the delete button. His stomach feels like it’s going to sink right through to the floor but he knows it’s something he has to do. He can’t keep waiting for a call that’s never going to come. He can’t keep pulling up pictures of them happy together just to cry himself to sleep. He can’t keep catching himself just in time before he sends a drunk text. He needs to let go. If he’s ever going to move on with his life, he has to do this. He hits delete and confirms. It feels like ripping his own heart from his chest, but he keeps going. He pulls up their message history, now under a nondescript number he never bothered to memorize, and deletes it. He pulls up Instagram and unfollows. He pulls up every other social media account he has and unfriends. He goes through his photo albums and deletes every picture of them together, every picture he took of Bucky, every picture of himself he knows that Bucky is behind the camera or just off to the side for. He deletes every trace of Bucky from his phone and then throws it across the apartment, where it hits the wall and shatters.

It should feel more liberating. He should feel proud of himself for taking such a huge step. It should feel like anything other than soul-crushing sadness and despair but, well.

Natasha will show up out of the blue a couple days later, bottle of expensive whiskey in hand, and get him smashed, not once asking what he’s doing back in NYC or why he never called, and things will start to feel better. But tonight, his first night alone in his new apartment, it feels like the weight of his empty future is going to crush him, and he wishes it would just hurry up and do it already.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 12, 2021)**

This bar is Sam’s favorite bar in the whole world. And he can actually say that because he’s been all over the world. But this bar… this bar is the best. The bartenders and the fact that they still remember him are the best. The pool tables and the dartboards and even the shuffleboard are the best. The music selection is the best. The whiskey is the _best_ and he knows they always carry a sizable stock of the one liquor in the world that actually works on a super soldier metabolism. And right now it houses almost all of his favorite people. The best people.

Natasha is racking the balls and Steve is chalking a cue stick and Nakia is standing with her arms crossed, pretending not to have any fun, even though Sam knows her well enough by now to know she’s enjoying herself. T’Challa’s at the bar with him, waiting for the next round of drinks.

“It is good to have you back,” T’Challa says. “Steve missed you.”

“Don’t even pretend like you didn’t miss me too,” Sam says. He’s happy and just buzzed enough to tease the King of Wakanda. Not that he wouldn’t do it sober. It’s just that when he’s been drinking he came blame it on the alcohol.

“The cat jokes were getting old,” T’Challa says but he’s grinning. He totally missed Sam. Of course he did, who wouldn’t? “Are you enjoying your vacation?”

Sam thinks about the past couple of days. There were a couple rocky points but right now they feel like a distant memory. Right now all Sam feels is a warm cheeriness thrumming through his veins, the joy of being surrounded by his smiling friends leaving him in high spirits. “I am,” he says and he means it.

The bartender hands them their tray of drinks and Sam carries it back to their table. The game is already under way and Natasha hands him a cue. “Stripes,” she says and he knocks two into the corner pocket, then scratches.

T’Challa’s up next but he’s never been very good at this game so it’s quickly back to Nat. And surprising nobody, she sinks all of the remaining stripes plus the eight-ball and the game is over. This is why she’s not allowed out with Sam in New York.

She stands up straight after sinking the eight-ball to find them all staring at her and shrugs. “It’s not my fault you’re all horrible.”

Sam rolls his eyes and starts collecting the balls to rack again and Steve heads back over to the bar. Sam’s about to tell him they got his drink when he sees what Steve’s headed for. It’s not the bar. It’s the guy standing at the bar. It’s Bucky. At the bar. This bar that Sam is at.

Bucky’s here and he’s leaning over the bar and saying something to the bartender that’s making her smile and Steve’s making a bee-line for him and Sam’s stomach drops and everything around him becomes sort of hazy and he feels like he’s trying to move underwater.

There’s a hand on his arm. He looks down at it then follows the arm it’s attached to and up to see Nat looking at him. “Why don’t you break?” she says. Her voice is gentle and Sam hates it. It’s like she’s trying to coddle him. He doesn’t need to be coddled. He needs to get this over with. They’re going to come face-to-face eventually. Why not right now?

The answer to that comes in the form of Steve leading Bucky out of the bar through the front door.

What the actual hell?

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the sound of the cue ball crashing into the rest of them and several balls falling into pockets. Nakia is bent over the table, cue in hand.

“I’ll be right back,” Sam says and heads to the restroom. This is a lot. He just needs a minute or ten or twenty to regroup. In the restroom he splashes cold water on his face and gives himself a few soft slaps on the cheeks. He can do this. Or maybe he doesn’t have to right now. Maybe Steve is out there making sure that doesn’t happen.

Which doesn’t really make sense given their conversation earlier but.

The point is, whatever happens when Sam exits this toilet, he can handle it. Everything will be fine. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and pushes the door open. Immediately he sees Steve back at the table but Bucky’s not with him. Okay. Apparently he’s not going to have to do this tonight. Weirdly, he feels a little disappointed. He was… not ready, but the anticipation, even just from a few minutes, got his nerves singing. Turns out it was for nothing.

He heads over to the digital jukebox, needing a few more minutes before he can go back to the table and ask what the hell that was about. He starts scrolling through the screen, not really paying attention to what he’s reading, when someone reaches over him from behind and points to a space on the screen.

“That’s a great song.”

Sam’s breath catches. He would know that voice anywhere. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. He has no idea how he’s supposed to react, what he’s supposed to do. It feels like he’s never interacted with another human being before in his life. He wills himself to look at where the finger is pointing and reads.

“Elton John? Really?” he says and turns around.

Bucky’s so close, there’s only a foot between them max and Sam is having trouble breathing. Because Bucky is just so… He’s just so _Bucky_ , with his penetrating blue eyes and his soft layer of stubble and his unfair facial structure and the hair, oh god, the hair. It’s short and it does a swoopy thing not unlike what Sam’s stomach is doing currently, and he smells like Bucky, like laundry detergent and whatever it is that makes him smell like home and Sam is not sure how he’s even staying upright at this moment.

Bucky lowers his arm from where it’s still pointing to _Bennie and the Jets_ on the screen behind Sam and shrugs. He looks totally unaffected as he rakes his eyes over Sam. “You look good, Wilson,” he says.

He’s still standing too close and Sam is still having too much trouble breathing but he’ll be damned if he’s going to let Bucky know that. “I always do,” he says with a slight lift of his shoulders, like it’s no big deal.

Bucky smirks and licks his lips. “How’s New York?”

The problem Sam’s having right now is that his every instinct is telling him to lean into Bucky, to close the distance between their two bodies. He’s sober enough to know that that is the exact opposite of what he should do. So he crosses his arms and says, “New York’s great, man. How’s the hospital?”

Bucky stills. He wasn’t exactly moving before but Sam definitely feels him still, almost like all of the blood comes to a rushing halt inside his veins, like every cell stops dividing. It’s almost paralyzing how obvious it is. “You still have a credit,” he says, looking the jukebox behind Sam, then takes a step backwards.

Sam looks over his shoulder and presses _Bennie and the Jets_. Why not? When he turns back, Bucky’s got his hands in his pockets, completely closed off.He nods his head in the direction of Steve and the pool table and Sam follows him over.

Nobody even bothers trying to conceal their concern when the two of them walk over together.

“It’s fine. We’re fine,” Bucky says lightly and everybody accepts it, exhaling in relief.

Nakia and Natasha make their way over to the bar, and when T’Challa racks the next set it almost feels like old times- just the four of them playing pool and drinking, enjoying each other’s company. The only problem is Sam can feel it- it’s not fine, they’re not fine and Bucky knows it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a king prob wouldnt be in a local bar drinking but this is my fic and i do what i want. he’s a man of the people.
> 
> also... bucky and sam face-to-face finally! YAY!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5! Woo! This chapter is a rollercoaster of emotions to say the least.
> 
> Warnings: the flashbacks in this chapter are where Sam really starts to question if Bucky's been faithful to him. There's also an almost-panic attack.
> 
> I think that's it? I hope you guys enjoy it and thank you so so so so so much for all the comments and everything so far!! You guys are amazing.
> 
> And as always, you can find me on tumblr at [bisexualbcky.](http://bisexualbcky.tumblr.com/)

**Present Day (June 13, 2021)**

Sam smells coffee. The good kind. It’s fresh and probably still steaming and it’s like he can _feel_ the caffeine hitting his nostrils. He peeks his head out from underneath the covers to see Natasha setting a glorious paper cup from the best coffee shop in town on the table next to him.

“Hung over?” she asks and moves around to the other side of the bed to climb in next to him.

Sam takes stock of how he’s feeling- no headache, no nausea, no dehydration. Everything’s good. Just a little tired. He shakes his head. “No. You?”

She takes a sip of the coffee in her hand. “No, but I didn’t start doing shots just so I could stand to be in the same room as my ex.”

Sam groans. He made it what… two entire minutes into the day without thinking about Bucky. But she’s right- he did drink a lot last night and it’s kind of a miracle that he’s not feeling any consequences for it right now. He sits up and grabs the coffee off the table.

“I wasn’t drinking because of _him_ ,” he says, stubbornly. “I was drinking because we were at a bar.”

It’s a lie. He knows it and she knows it. Every single person that’s ever met him in his life probably knows it but Nat, goddess that she is, doesn’t call him on it.

She opens up a paper bag and pulls out a bagel, then hands the bag to him. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

Sam takes the bag. “A little tired but I’m good.”

“No, I mean how are you _feeling_?” she says. She’s trying to be a good friend - she _is_ a good friend - but Sam’s not really sure he wants to have this conversation. Partly because he’d just rather not talk about it ever but mostly because he doesn’t really know how he’s feeling. Last night was not the reunion he was expecting. Not that he was really expecting anything in particular but on the list of possible run-ins, pretending like everything is a-okay between him and Bucky and nothing ever even happened was not one of them.

He’s imagined a scenario in which they ignored each other, just completely pretended the other didn’t exist. He’s imagined a screaming match, hurling insults at each other and throwing nearby objects to shatter against walls, even though they never really even fought when they were together. He’s imagined them laying eyes on each other for the first time in over a year and not being able to keep their hands off each other, ripping each other’s clothes off and falling into bed, even though they’d regret it in the morning. He’s even imagined - as embarrassing as it is - Bucky breaking down and telling Sam how much he’s missed him, how lonely he’s been since Sam left.

He never would’ve guessed they’d be playing this game of heartbreak chicken- seeing who can be the most okay before the other breaks.

Or maybe they’re not playing a game. Maybe Bucky really is okay. Maybe Bucky is as unaffected by being in Sam’s presence as he’s acting like he is. Maybe this isn’t a hardship for him at all. Maybe Sam is the only one who’s having a hard time trying to find the will to paste a smile on his face for everyone else’s benefit, to be an adult and not ruin the occasion for Steve and T’Challa.

But there was a moment. It was small but it definitely happened. Bucky tensed up at the mention of the hospital. He shook it off quick enough and never let it show again but he was affected even if just for a second. Sam still has no idea what that was about. He doesn’t know if Bucky was bothered by Sam knowing something about his life or if it was about the hospital specifically. Either way he can’t see why it would be a problem. Bucky, presumably, still knows all about Sam’s life. He never unfollowed him on Instagram or anything else.

Of course Sam’s always assumed that was just because Bucky didn’t have a hard time seeing Sam’s name day in and day out. He had no reason to unfollow. He’s not the one who got his heart broken.

But break-ups are supposed to be hard, for both parties, no matter what. They shared a life together- they had a home and a plan and they talked about the future. Bucky’s life had to have been affected by Sam’s departure, no matter what his emotional state was. Even the mundane stuff like who’s going to take out the trash and buying a toothpaste they both like and setting the timer for the coffee pot (which always fell to Sam because Bucky could never remember to do it)… all those little things that make up a day to day life changed when Sam left. 

Sure, Bucky could easily get over those things in a year and a half and Sam’s not even upset that he would, that’s just life; even Sam’s gotten used to living alone, but the small things- they have nothing to do with the way Bucky tensed when Sam asked him about the hospital.

So what the hell was it about?

“Sam?” Natasha says and he realizes he never answered her question.

“I’m fine,” he says. It’s not a lie, technically. He _is_ fine. He’s alive and well and breathing and he’s not even feeling soul-crushing despair at the moment. Mostly he’s just annoyed that he doesn’t know what’s going on in his ex’s mind. So he’s fine.

Nat snorts at that but doesn’t say anything.

Sam’s finishing off his bagel when the door swings open and Steve walks in.

“Has anyone ever heard of knocking?” Sam asks, though he doesn’t really care.

Steve doesn’t answer, just crawls onto the bed and squeezes in between Sam and Nat. Distantly, Sam is aware that they’re all probably too old to be crawling into each other’s beds like they’re having a sleepover but mostly he’s just content to be spending the morning with his two best friends.

“How are we feeling?” Steve asks and grabs the empty bag from Sam, pouting when he realizes there’s nothing in it.

“Fine,” Sam says at the same time Nat says, “Why?”

“Baseball.”

“Baseball?” Nat asks, skeptically, and Sam is already grinning. _Baseball_. 

 

* * *

 

**November 2019**

The thing about spending all your time with two grown men from Brooklyn is that you learn to really appreciate some things you never in your entire life thought you’d think twice about. The main one being the ratio of cheese to crust on a slice of pizza. But also: baseball.

Sure, Sam played baseball every once in awhile with the other neighborhood kids growing up and he watched a game or two on television, but it was never really a part of his life. It was never a thing he particularly cared about and it was definitely not something he ever thought would matter to him as an adult.

In all honesty, it’s still not that important to him. He couldn’t care less who makes it into the playoffs and if he misses the World Series, oh well. But actually _playing_ the game, that’s a whole different story. There’s something about getting a group of people together, breaking off into teams, and smacking a ball with a piece of wood that puts everyone in a good mood. Throw in two super soldiers whose faces light up like a couple of kids on Christmas morning and you’ve struck gold. 

It started with Steve and Bucky ordering some equipment online one afternoon and then just going out onto the palace grounds when it arrived to try and hit a few balls. When they kept breaking the bats (and unravelling the balls), they turned to T’Challa for a solution. T’Challa only had a passing knowledge of what he called “a silly American game” to which Steve and Bucky, to nobody’s surprise, took great offense. They made it their mission to convert T’Challa to a lover of the game and somehow roped Sam into being a part of it.

It only took one afternoon of having the absolute time of their lives for it to become a regular thing. And the more they played, the more other people joined, until they were able to get actual games going. T’Challa even designed a vibranium bat especially for Steve and Bucky that absorbs enough of the vibration that they can hit a ball like anyone without enhanced abilities would.

They haven’t been able to put a game together since summer. Everyone’s been busy and T’Challa and Steve were dealing with some crisis and kept leaving for weeks at a time but now they’re back in town. They all have the afternoon free. They’re going to play some baseball and Sam’s excited. It’s been too long since they last played.

He heads over around three-thirty and makes sure to bring Bucky’s stuff with him. Bucky has to work till four so he’s going to be a little late but that’s okay. The game will have barely started by the time he gets there.

When Sam arrives Steve and Nakia are already there, setting up the makeshift diamond, using floor mats for bases.

“Baseball,” he says with a huge smile on his face and drops his stuff off to the side of the diamond.

Steve grins back. “Baseball.”

Nakia shakes her head like she thinks they’re idiots but she’s there too and he knows deep down she’s just as excited as they are. T’Challa and a handful of other people come out a few minutes later and they separate into two teams, making sure to leave a spot for Bucky on one of them.

Bucky shows up about fifteen minutes into the game, coming up behind Sam - who’s on the sidelines watching his team bat - and wraps his arms around him, pinning Sam’s to his sides.

“Hi,” he says and plants a quick kiss on Sam’s cheek, then releases him. “What’d I miss?”

“Mostly just how good I look swinging a bat,” Sam says, as Bucky moves to stand next to him.

“Were you swinging for my team?” Bucky asks and Sam’s not sure if that’s an innuendo or if Bucky’s really just asking what team he’s on. He doesn’t even know if that’s a saying Bucky actually knows or if it’s just a coincidence.

He turns his head to look at Bucky and finds him with his arms crossed, facing forward to watch the game. Just a coincidence, then.

“Yes I was,” Sam answers.

“That mean you’re gonna let me suck your dick tonight?” Bucky says, turning to look at Sam and smirking.

So apparently he does understand the saying. And apparently Sam is into it because blood is rushing to a part of his body it should not be. He shakes his head but it’s mostly at himself and the fact that his boyfriend flirting with him still gets him going.

The man at bat strikes out and the teams switch places for the next inning. While they’re walking out to their positions on the field, Bucky says, “I gotta leave early tonight.”

He’s not looking at Sam; he’s looking at his hands trying to fix a glove over the metal one even though it’s probably not necessary. He says it so casually, so off-hand, like it’s not even a big deal. Like baseball isn’t one of his favorite things in the world and it’s just a game they play whenever there’s nothing better to do.

“I got a school thing,” he says when he looks up and sees Sam’s just staring at him.

“Okay,” Sam says but he he can’t help the way his stomach sort of drops, the way he feels instantly let down. He’s not sure why. It’s not like Bucky leaving means he has to leave too. It’s not like he can’t enjoy the game without Bucky here and it’s definitely not like this is anything new. Bucky’s always busy with school.

But it’s a Saturday and something about that doesn’t sit right with Sam. He doesn’t say anything, of course; he never does. Instead he just stops at the pitcher’s mound and let’s Bucky continue out to first base. He can’t help the sense of dread he feels for the rest of the game, waiting for Bucky to make his exit, off to wherever it is he’s going.

After the game’s over and Bucky’s already gone, Steve invites Sam over for dinner but he declines. He’s feeling lonely and he’d rather feel that way in the privacy of his own home, where he can sulk and eat ice cream straight out of the carton while wearing sweatpants. The only problem is there isn’t actually any ice cream at the apartment because Sam already ate all of it the last time Bucky was out late. Three nights ago.

Sam should probably take that as a sign that he’s eating too much dairy or that he should maybe, you know, talk to his boyfriend about his feelings but instead he drives the fifteen minutes out of the way to the only store within an hour that sells Brownie Batter Core. He buys two cartons, just incase.

On the way home, stopped at a traffic light in a part of town he’s not usually in, he looks over to see his boyfriend sitting outside a coffee shop with a woman Sam’s never seen before. Their faces are illuminated by the soft glow of light spilling out of the shop’s windows and they’re laughing. Bucky looks happy - and also like he definitely went home to shower and change after leaving the game - and Sam’s world starts to close in around him.

He doesn’t remember the light turning green or driving home. He doesn’t remember walking up to the front door or opening it. He doesn’t remember putting the ice cream away or taking off his clothes. He doesn’t remember turning the shower on or getting in.

The only thing he’s aware of right now is the way his hands shake as he repeatedly balls his fists up, then releases them trying to calm himself down, trying to erase the memory of light-hearted joy plastered on Bucky’s face as he laughed with someone who definitely wasn’t Sam, while he was doing something that definitely wasn’t for school.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 13, 2021)**

“Okay the rules,” Steve says, pretending to swing the vibranium bat he’s holding, “are as follows.”

“We know how to play baseball, Steve,” Bucky interrupts.

“Not everyone knows our rules,” Steve says, looking at Natasha.

Natasha just stares right back, completely unimpressed. Even though she’s never played, she’s still probably better than all of them.

“We hit the ball with the bat and then run the bases,” Sam says. It’s really not that complicated. “Oh and tweedle dee and tweedle dum aren’t allowed to be on the same team,” he says, gesturing to Steve and Bucky.

Steve looks mildly affronted at the nickname. Bucky looks… Sam’s not entirely sure how to classify the look on Bucky’s face. Provoked, maybe. Devious, definitely. Sam focuses his attention on Steve. He doesn’t need to know what’s going on in Bucky’s mind. It’s none of his business and knowing would probably only make Sam’s life harder anyway. Besides, they’re supposed to be doing that thing where they pretend everything is okay and they didn’t used to be happy and in love together.

“We don’t let them pitch either,” T’Challa says and that’s true. Steve and Bucky are not allowed to pitch. They say they won’t use their super strength but they’re both competitive assholes and there’s only so many times a catcher can almost get all their teeth knocked out before someone makes a rule about it.

“Great. How do we pick teams?” Nat asks.

Steve holds out his arm. “Let’s just split up right down the middle. Everyone on this side, with Bucky. Everyone over here, with me.”

Everyone agrees and breaks off to start planning their strategy. Sam ends up with Steve and Nat and a few people from the palace he recognizes but doesn’t really know. He takes the position of pitcher, like always, with Steve at short stop and Nat playing the catcher. He likes their odds.

The other team bats first. “Home field advantage” T’Challa calls it with a grin and Sam doesn’t miss the look of amused affection on Steve’s face. It’s nauseating. He hopes he never looked that stupidly dopey when he was in love.

Nakia is first up to bat. It’s a good choice. She has a knack for releasing all of her aggression through her swing and when she makes contact with the ball, it soars. Today’s no different. Sam’s first throw is a strike but Nakia hits the second one and the ball goes flying, straight out to left field. She makes it to first base.

Next up is a guy Sam knows fairly well. His name’s Jaha and he has poor depth perception. Even the slightest bit of a curve in the ball’s trajectory and he’ll miss. Sam strikes him out with ease.

Next is T’Challa; he’s a bit of a wild card. He almost always makes contact but it’s impossible to judge where he’ll hit the ball. Sometimes it’s grounders, sometimes it’s straight over Sam’s head out to center field, and sometimes it’s a line drive to third base. Sam still hasn’t figured out if he does it on purpose or if he’s just inconsistent. His gut tells him it’s the former.

The first throw results in a fly-ball but T’Challa hits the second and it goes right over Sam’s head and past the woman on second, giving both Nakia and T’Challa enough time to run two bases. 

The next woman hits a grounder that gets her tagged out before she even makes it to first base but allows Nakia to run home, earning their team a point.

The next batter strikes out and they move into the second inning.

Steve bats first for their team and the pitch Nakia throws him is fast. She’s gotten really good at this since Sam left, but Steve’s better and he sends the ball out into center field. Sam can’t help but notice the playful ease between him and Bucky when Steve makes it to first base. Steve shoves Bucky by the shoulder and Bucky holds onto Steve’s shirt as he veers off the base, getting ready for the next batter to send him to second. They’re saying things to each other that Sam can’t hear but they’re smiling and laughing and they look like they’re having a great time. Sam is almost jealous.

Bucky’s not as playful with the next person who makes it to first but he’s still smiling. He still looks happy. He still looks like he loves this game and there’s no place in the world he’d rather be. Briefly, Sam feels angry about an afternoon from years ago but he let’s it go almost immediately. There’s no point in dwelling on the past.

Natasha’s up next. When she gets to home plate and raises the bat, he hears Nakia call, “Would you like a practice swing?”

Sam has never known Nakia to be the kind of person to give someone any leeway - she’s just as competitive as the rest of them - but she doesn’t say it in a taunting way. She’s really asking Nat if she wants a practice throw. Sam is kind of stunned. Maybe it’s a psychological thing. Maybe she’s trying to get in Nat’s head by making her think she has to be given an advantage just to be on even-footing.

Nat just shrugs though. “Nah. It can’t be that hard.”

And of course, for her, it isn’t. Nakia throws a great pitch but Natasha still knocks it into the outfield and heads to first. It gives Steve enough time to run all the way home. 

Sam steps up to the plate and feels the weight of the bat in his hands. It’s been a long time since he’s hit a ball and it feels good to be back on the diamond. He wishes the circumstances were a little different but they’re not bad. Everyone is having a good time and it’s not even awkward. That might change in thirty seconds when Sam is standing on Bucky’s base - and he _will_ make it to first base, he has to - but right now, the sun is shining, he’s got a bat in his hands, and he can hear Steve behind him cheering him on. It’s a good day.

He looks at the pitcher’s mound and points the bat to Nakia. She raises one brow and pulls her hands to her chest. Sam positions himself over home plate (a welcome mat with little cartoon bees buzzing around a flower) and watches as she pulls her arm back and unleashes the best curve ball he’s ever seen. He doesn’t have a chance in hell of hitting it. He strikes out.

“Where the hell did that come from?” he yells, incredulous.

She tips her head to him in what can only be described as a mocking gesture. “Welcome back, Sam Wilson.”

“Oh, it’s like that?” he says and she smiles, confirming. It is definitely on now. He is going to hit that ball so far out of the field it’s not even going to be a home run. They’re going to have to come up with an entirely new term just for how far that ball’s going to go. He’s going to reinvent baseball right now is what he’s going to do. He’s going to-

Get a second strike.

What the hell.

He shakes his arms out and takes a deep breath. He can do this. He’s actually pretty good at this. Usually. Or at least he used to be.

Nakia winds up, pulls her arm back, and unleashes. Sam sees the ball coming straight for him and swings - praying for contact, not to strike out, just to be able to make it onto the bases - and it works. He feels the bat hit the ball and runs, not even bothering to look where the ball goes. He’s so wrapped up in the momentum of the moment he forgets he’s running straight to Bucky.

Bucky moves out of the way but just barely, just enough so there’s not a full on collision. When their bodies do make contact, Bucky takes a few steps back, giving into Sam’s momentum. His hands are on Sam’s biceps, steadying, and it’s completely unnecessary. They shouldn’t even be touching. This isn’t really a contact sport. Sam’s didn’t even slide into first.

Why is Bucky making this a thousand times worse than it needs to be?

“Safe,” Bucky says, completely unnecessarily. Sam knows he’s safe, thank you very much.

“Damn right,” he mutters to himself.

Bucky’s still got his hands on him so Sam looks up at his face. He looks amused. Like _really_ amused. He’s smirking and he’s staring back at Sam and the corners of his eyes are doing that thing where they sort of crinkle and his jaw is working like he’s trying not to laugh.

“What?” Sam asks.

Bucky pushes his shoulders so that Sam can watch the ball just as it’s being thrown back to Nakia. “Should’ve ran to second.”

Dammit. That’s why Bucky didn’t move. He was expecting Sam to slow down a little and take the curve straight for second base.

Sam groans. Apparently he’s the one making things awkward.

Bucky drops his hands and takes a step back. He’s still smiling. He’s finding this way more amusing than is necessary.

Sam rolls his eyes and takes the allotted one step off the base, getting ready for the next batter.

“Go get ‘em, champ,” Bucky says. Because he’s an asshole.

Sam looks back at him with his best _really?_ face but Bucky’s still wearing that stupid fucking grin and Sam really wants to wipe it away.

Nakia throws a pitch and the batter swings, makes contact, and the ball goes straight to Bucky. He catches it with ease - out - and throws it back to Nakia.

“Guess you’re stuck with me for a little longer,” Bucky says. It’s airy, meant to be a joke, but there’s a bit of a bite to it. Sam feels it deep in the pit of his stomach, and glances at him.

Bucky’s joking but it’s more than just a joke. Underneath all the teasing and the carefree front, he’s having actual emotions. If you didn’t know him as well as Sam does, if you didn’t spend several years sharing your life with him, you’d have no idea. Bucky’s a great actor when he wants to be, but Sam can tell. That was a dig at Sam for leaving Wakanda.

Sam wants to comment, wants to retaliate with the reason he left, but something holds him back. Maybe it’s the fact that Bucky’s not looking at him at all or maybe it’s the fact that the next batter hits a grounder that sends Sam running to second. Either way, Sam bites down on his response, but he can’t stop thinking about the resentment he can feel dripping off of Bucky now that he’s aware of it for the rest of the game.

 

* * *

 

**December 2019**

Bucky slips the third finger in and it feels good, it always feels good, but Sam’s only distantly cognizant of it. He can’t seem to keep his mind on the moment. Bucky will crook his fingers and Sam will feel a jolt of pleasure, shocking him back to the present, and then his thoughts will immediately start to wander again.

He’s thinking about all the times Bucky said he was at the library studying but didn’t get home until three in the morning. He thinks about all the last minute text messages saying he can’t make it. He thinks about the times there weren’t even text messages, just Sam sitting at home, waiting for somebody who couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone. He thinks about the night he drove by Bucky drinking coffee with some woman Sam’s never met.

Bucky’s opening him up with his fingers and Sam’s wondering who else those fingers have been in. 

Sam should’ve confronted him about her but… they don’t… they don’t do this. They don’t fight. And they don’t fight because they don’t lie to each other. Sam never used to have a reason to doubt Bucky’s fidelity. He never once, not for a second, wondered if Bucky was actually where he said he was going to be. He trusted him. He trusted him with his life and he trusted him with his _self_ and now he doesn’t know what to do.

“You ready, baby?” Bucky asks, pulling his fingers out and getting on his knees in between Sam’s legs. He’s running a hand up and down Sam’s thigh.

Sam thinks about that hand holding a cup of coffee that Sam didn’t give him and swallows. “Yeah. Get a condom.”

Bucky’s hand stops moving immediately and Sam knows why. They rarely use a condom. They’ve been in a supposedly-monogamous relationship for so long now (and even in the beginning they weren’t exactly the poster children for safe sex) the only reason they ever use a condom anymore is because there happens to already be one right there, judging them, and they feel guilty not using it.

“I don’t have one,” Bucky says. His voice goes up at the end so it sounds like a question. Sam has a lot of those too.

“There’s some in the drawer,” he says, nodding in that direction. He knows they’re there because he bought a pack a few days ago. He’s not sure why - if it was out of spite or for this exact moment - but they’re there; and Sam’s sure as hell going to make Bucky use one.

Bucky stares at him for a few seconds - and it takes everything Sam has not to look away - before he moves to open the drawer and pull a condom out. Sam watches him rip it open and slide it on and he can’t help the disappointment he feels that Bucky didn’t challenge him, didn’t call him on it, didn’t even ask why.

Bucky doesn’t put any lube on over the condom, just lines right up with Sam, and presses in. It hurts - the stretch - but Sam prefers it this way right now. When Bucky’s all the way in, he stops moving and looks at Sam, waiting for the go ahead. He doesn’t say anything though and he’s not touching Sam the way he normally would. His hands are just resting on Sam’s hips.

Sam nods and Bucky pulls out to push back in. After a few thrusts he leans forward, hands on either side of Sam’s head and starts pushing in harder. Sam is overwhelmed with all the things he’s feeling - the betrayal and the disappointment and the agony of not knowing - and all of that combined with the feeling of Bucky driving into him, hard and relentless, is too much. He comes untouched and a few seconds later Bucky collapses next to him.

Sam’s emotions are at an all time high and he wants so badly to reach over and touch Bucky, to make him promise that everything’s okay, that they’re okay, but he doesn’t. Instead he watches Bucky get up and throw the condom in the trash, then go straight to the shower.

If he’d known it was going to be the last time he ever felt Bucky inside of him, he might have held on a little tighter.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 13, 2021)**

Sam brings the shot glass to his mouth and drinks, then slams it back on the bar. Whatever he said to Natasha this morning about not needing to drink to be in the same room as Bucky was a complete and total lie. He can’t do this sober. The more time he spends around Bucky, the more he has to look at him, and the more he has to look at him, the more he can’t stop himself from thinking about him. The more he thinks about him, the more he remembers everything he loved about him: the way Bucky used to spout off random facts about marine life that seemed completely out of the blue until the day he realized Bucky only said them to distract Sam when Sam was starting to feel anxious about something; the way Bucky could not for the life of him boil pasta without turning it into a soggy inedible mess; the way he would let Sam tuck his freezing toes in between his calves and not even complain.

All the little things that made Bucky the person Sam loved most in the world, they’re all still there - Bucky’s still that person - and Sam doesn’t know how to stop thinking about them when he keeps having to look at Bucky’s face.

And the worst part is the fact that he can still feel the tension between them. He can’t fucking take it. It’s too much. It’s stifling. He’d rather they just scream at each other, get everything off their chests, than do this simmering resentment barely concealed by pretend smiles thing.

But, well, here they are.

So he drinks, two shots up front, and a whiskey to bring back to the table.

“It’s not possible.” Steve’s shaking his head as Sam takes the seat next to him.

“It is if we get creative,” Nat argues. She’s not one-hundred percent sober and it’s kind of off-putting. Sam’s only seen her drink enough to feel the affects of alcohol once and it was just the two of them alone in his apartment then. He didn’t know her brain was even capable of letting herself be vulnerable like this in front of this many people.

“Sam, tell her it won’t work,” Steve says and Sam has no idea what they’re even talking about. He’s not entirely sure he even wants to know but he asks anyway.

“What won’t work?”

“Never have I ever,” Nat says. She looks so happy, so open. It’s so unusual Sam can’t even bring himself to comment on the fact that they’re a bunch of thirty-something year olds at a bar and not a group of teenagers sitting at the back of the bus.

“Why won’t it work?” he asks. It’s a dumb game meant to be played by people far younger than them but he’s not really sure why they _can’t_ play.

“You really think any of us,” Steve says and gestures to everyone at the table, “can think of one thing we haven’t done that everybody else has?”

He makes a good point. They’re not exactly the most innocent or naive group of people. There’s not a single one of them who hasn’t killed another person with their bare hands. Not to mention, he lived with Steve for two years. He knows just how freaky him and T’Challa have gotten. Sam’s hard pressed to come up with even one thing he could use to play right now.

“Come on,” Nat begs. “I never got to play this.”

That does it. It hits Sam right in the chest and he can feel the shift in Steve’s demeanor that says he felt it too. Nat never got to play because she never got to be a kid. In all likelihood Sam’s probably the only one who’s ever actually played the game, given he’s the only one who was a teenager in America during this century but his heart hurts for her nonetheless. If she thinks playing this game will give her a little piece of the life she was robbed of, helping her with that is the least they can do.

“You start,” Steve says, nodding at Natasha.

She smiles bright and open. “Never have I ever played this game,” she says, with a silly grin.

Sam brings his glass to his mouth and is surprised to see T’Challa do it as well. Sam’s not even sure where or when that would even come up for a king at any point during his life but he supposes T’Challa wasn’t always the king.

Nakia’s sitting to Nat’s left so she’s up next. She looks at all of them with one perfectly raised eyebrow and says, “Never have I ever been handcuffed.”

Which, damn, okay. She’s good. Everyone else takes a drink, including the king, and that’s a story Sam makes a mental note to get out of him later.

Sam’s up next but he has no idea what to say. His first thought is _never have I ever been handcuffed in bed_ (and oh that’s probably the answer to the T’Challa question) but that’s a lie and at least two other people at this table know it. 

_Never have I ever been arrested._ No.

_Never have I ever had my ass ate_. No.

_Never have I ever been with a woman._ No.

And that’s when it comes to him. It’s petty and it’s unnecessary but so fucking what. What’s he got to lose anyway?

“Never have I ever cheated on someone,” he says and watches as Bucky’s eyes go straight to his. Sam finds a certain masochistic pleasure in that. Bucky hasn’t looked at him once since he’s sat down and now he can’t look anywhere else.

Sam doesn’t see if anyone else takes a drink. He’s too busy watching Bucky sip from his.

Sam makes a show of setting his down on the table without taking a drink and he doesn’t miss the way Bucky’s jaw works at that. The childish part of Sam feels a smug satisfaction about it. The rest of him feels sort of hollow.

But that’s what he’s got the alcohol for. 

“Never have I ever asked my best friend to help me break-up with someone I cheated on,” Steve says from next to Sam and immediately Bucky chucks a paper coaster at him.

“It was one time,” he says and Steve starts laughing. Bucky’s laughing too but it sounds empty. It’s like he’s laughing because that’s the expected reaction, not because he’s actually amused.

And just like that Sam doesn’t know what’s going on anymore. He can tell Bucky’s doing his very best not to look at him but he doesn’t know _why_. The tension between the two of them has shifted and Sam’s too caught up in everything he’s feeling to figure out what it means.

The only thing he knows is that he still doesn’t really know anything.

The game continues on for several rounds until it gets downright dirty and oddly specific.

_Never have I ever repurposed a common household object as a sex toy._

_Never have I ever had three fingers and a dildo in me while an Elvis Presley song played in the background._

_Never have I ever let someone come on my face just to lick it off and spit it back out somewhere else._

_Never have I ever poured chocolate syrup on someone’s ass and then started crying._

_Never have I ever had a vibrating butt plug up my ass while out to dinner with friends._

Sam is acutely aware that his friends have no boundaries and that they all seem to know way too much about each other’s sex lives, with the exception of Natasha. Even intoxicated and giggling, she’s still a vault of secrets. Sam’s kind of impressed, actually.

Eventually the game dissolves into laughter and conversation and Sam is still too overwhelmed with everything he’s feeling to really contribute to it so he goes back up to the bar and orders another drink.

“What the hell was that about?” Bucky says, squeezing into the space next to Sam at the bar. There’s not much room so Bucky’s chest is pressed against Sam’s arm. He sounds pissed which is… a lot, actually. Bucky never gets mad. He shuts down or he walks away or he has the mildly inappropriate reaction of laughing at a time when anyone else would probably be shouting but he never gets mad. Sam used to wonder if he was even capable of it after everything Hydra put him through. Now he has his answer.

Sam’s about to respond in the most difficult manner he possibly can when he hears it. There’s a loud crash and Sam’s immediate response is to look for Riley, to make sure he’s okay, and it only takes a split second for him to realize where he is, that the noise was the sound of a glass falling to the floor, and that Riley’s not here with him, but it’s not quick enough. A thousand images flash through his brain and the room starts to get smaller and Sam can’t breathe.

The next thing he knows he’s being yanked outside and over to the side of the building, away from any people.

“Hey,” Bucky says as he let’s go of Sam’s arm and stands in front of him.

Sam drags his eyes up from Bucky’s chest to his face. He feels like he’s moving underwater but he’s not panicking and he can breathe now.

And he knows where he is.

“It was a glass,” Bucky says and Sam knows that. He does. But he’s grateful Bucky’s saying it anyway.

He nods and closes his eyes.

“Wilson,” Bucky says and Sam opens his eyes back up to look at him.

He’s so beautiful. He’s so _familiar._ Even with the short hair.

“You cut your hair,” Sam says. It comes out gravelly and quiet but it’s there.

The crease between Bucky’s brows eases a bit as he huffs out a laugh. “I did.”

“It’s very,” Sam starts and then stops to search for a fitting word. “Swoopy,” he decides on.

Bucky doesn’t respond to that, just stares at Sam, like he’s trying to parse something out. He’s probably wondering if Sam’s lost his mind.

Sam wants to ask him why he cut it, when he cut it, what made him do it after all those years. He wants to ask him what he’s been doing since Sam’s been gone and _how_ he’s been doing. He wants to ask him if he’s happy but he’s not sure he’s ready for the answer. More than anything he wants to step into Bucky’s space and have Bucky wrap his arms around him just like he used to but he knows he can’t do that. He knows he doesn’t have the right to, not anymore; and the thing that’s hurting Sam the most in this moment is knowing that if he did do it, if he did invade Bucky’s personal space, Bucky would probably let him. He’d let Sam lean into him and he’d wrap his arms around him and he’d hold him because he’d know that’s what Sam wants. He’d do it because that’s just the kind of person he is and that knowledge is killing Sam.

“Let me walk you home,” Bucky says.

It’s sort of a ridiculous proposition - they’re at a bar with all their friends and there’s a car waiting to drive them back whenever they’re ready - but Sam finds himself agreeing anyway. He’s not ready to say goodnight to Bucky and he sure as hell doesn’t want to go back inside.

“So I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately,” Bucky says as they’re walking and Sam steels himself for whatever he’s about to say, “and I really think fish have feelings.”

The laugh that escapes Sam’s mouth is so unexpected he almost chokes on his own spit. 

“It’s just too arrogant to assume they don’t,” Bucky continues. His tone of voice is completely serious but he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I hate you so much,” Sam says and he wishes he meant it.

They get to the palace too soon and Sam’s not ready for it to be over. There’s an ease he feels with Bucky - even in the midst of all the weirdness and unchartered territory between them - that he doesn’t feel with anyone else. He doesn’t want to say goodnight.

He forces himself to do it anyway, not wanting to mess with this tentative peace they’ve brokered between them, and watches Bucky walk off into the dark. He doesn’t like the feeling of watching him go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *supermassive blackhole plays in the distance*


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii!! Would you like some Natasha feels mixed in with a little Sambucky banter? If yes, this is the chapter for you! 
> 
> I don't believe I have any warnings for this chapter?? (let me know if there is something I should include)
> 
> And seriously, from the very bottom of my heart, thank you all for sticking with this, even though it's a WIP and thank you for the recs on twitter and tumblr and, you know, for just being generally awesome. I've never had so much fun writing before and it's because you guys have been so wonderful! <33

**Present Day (June 14, 2021)**

“I’m trying to remember the last time I woke up and you weren’t there,” Sam says groggily as Natasha climbs into his bed.

He’s actually happy she’s here. It’s nice not waking up alone and having to deal with his own intrusive thoughts first thing in the morning.

“Coffee,” she mumbles and hands him a cup. She does not sound nearly as awake as she usually does.

Sam takes the coffee and sets it down on the table. He’s not ready to actually sit up. He wants to stays in his cocoon of warmth and safety a few minutes longer.

Nat sets her own cup down on the other table and crawls under the covers, burrowing down into the pillow. “Why do people drink?”

She’s hungover.

As soon as he realizes that’s why she sounds so awful he laughs, which gets him a pillow shoved at his head but it’s fine. He’s not hungover.

“Why were _you_ drinking last night?” he asks.

She grimaces and rubs her forehead. “We were at a bar. Everyone was drinking.”

“Not the first time we’ve ever been in a bar,” he says. The more he thinks about it the more he realizes how little she drinks. It’s not even just that she doesn’t drink, it’s that she doesn’t let loose enough to drink. Even when she’s having fun, it’s always cloaked in something else. She’s never just having fun to have fun. There’s always something else going on. Her attention is always divided. She’s always aware of everything around her. Last night was the first time he’s ever seen her just _be_. 

She lifts her shoulder a little. “I was having fun.” There’s the hint of a smile on her lips, like she would be the happiest person in the world right now if she didn’t have a splitting headache. It’s so counterintuitive to everything Sam knows about her that it kind of takes his breath away.

“You seem really happy,” he says. It’s not a question but it kind of is and he’s hoping she answers it.

She smiles, genuine, and then does that thing where she tries to hide it but she can’t. She’s really smiling and it’s out there for the whole world - or in this case, Sam - to see.

“I like it here,” she says. It’s quiet but there’s no hesitation.

It reminds him of Steve when they first got here. Sam sort of always assumed that the change in his demeanor had to do with getting Bucky back (and to a lesser extent eventually falling in love with T’Challa) but now he’s wondering if maybe it’s more about being here, about this place.

Even Bucky seems to have pulled his life together while living in Wakanda.

So why wasn’t Sam able to do it?

He only lets himself think it for a second, five tops, before he goes back to being happy for Nat.

She yawns. “You disappeared with Barnes last night.”

Sam rolls his eyes but it’s only to hide what he’s really feeling- the flutter he feels in his stomach, the longing to be near Bucky right now, the confusion of _wanting_ Bucky but still being incredibly angry and hurt and all the things he was feeling before Bucky swooped in and made it perfectly clear that he’s still the person Sam fell in love with.

“Nothing happened,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to say.

She smirks. “I didn’t say anything did.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes - Sam lost in his own thoughts and Nat probably cursing every god she can think of for the way she feels right now - and it’s nice. It’s companionable. It’s never uncomfortable with her. They’re family at this point and they can lie here looking like crap and having feelings about things and just be themselves and Sam’s so grateful for that. It’s a level of friendship not many people ever reach. It’s one of the good things that came out of Sam and Bucky’s relationship falling apart. If Sam hadn’t moved back to New York he never would have been able to cultivate this friendship with her. And it’s not that he doesn’t have other friends or that none of them were here in Wakanda - he had Steve and T’Challa and Nakia - but he was never close to them the way he is with Natasha. And those friendships always felt built into his relationship with Bucky; even Steve. But his friendship with Natasha is his own. It exists completely separately of his relationship with anyone else and he’s so grateful for that. He cares about her more than he ever could have imagined. She’s his best friend, no question about it.

“It’s okay if you miss him,” Nat says, breaking the silence, and for a second Sam doesn’t understand what she’s saying, too wrapped up in thinking about their friendship, but then he gets it. She’s talking about Bucky, like she knows the exact war his head and his heart have been waging since they got here.

Sam doesn’t give her enough credit.

Unfortunately he’s not ready to admit he misses Bucky. At least not out loud. It’s almost like if he keeps it to himself, if he doesn’t say it to anyone else and maybe not even to himself, he can shield himself from the pain. If he never says he misses Bucky, then it’s like it never happened, and it won’t hurt when he has to go back to New York by himself. The pain he feels will just be an extension of the last time he got his heart broken and he can handle that. He’s been handling that. He can’t miss Bucky. He just can’t.

He’s saved from having to respond when the door swings open and Steve comes walking in because apparently this is just a thing the three of them do now - sit in bed together first thing in the morning to discuss the day’s activities.

“We have a problem,” Steve says as he sits on the bed next to Natasha, who groans.

“Inside voice,” she says and pulls the covers over her head.

Steve looks at Sam, eyebrows raised in question. 

Sam shrugs. “Tequila,” he says. He has no idea what she was actually drinking but he’s pretty sure _tequila_ is a universal explanation for the pain of all hangovers. 

Steve nods in understanding and then says, “I need a favor.”

Already Sam can tell he’s about to hate his life.

“I need you to go pick-up the rings,” Steve says. “They were supposed to be delivered yesterday but they weren’t ready yet.” 

Oh. Well that’s a thing Sam can definitely do.

“Sure thing, man,” he says.

“Great. Bucky’ll pick you up in an hour,” Steve says and there it is. Steve goddamn Rogers and his goddamn favors.

When he sees the look on Sam’s face, he says, “That’s not a problem, is it? You guys are good, right?”

Sam sighs. He doesn’t want to get his messy melancholic feelings all over Steve’s happy and in-love ones. Not so close to the wedding.

“It’s fine,” Sam says and Steve smiles.

“Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

**December 2019**

“That was my sister,” Sam says, putting his phone back in his pocket. “She asked if I’d be there for the birth.”

“Oh,” is all Bucky says, but he’s watching Sam. It’s like he’s waiting to see how he’s supposed to react.

“I could go,” Sam says. “Aleela would give me the time off but it’s during the holidays.”

What he means is that since Bucky can’t come, since he can’t leave Wakanda, they’ll have to spend the holidays apart.

What he means is: _please tell me not to go_.

What he means is: _please tell me you still love me._

What he means is: _I miss you so much I can hardly breathe._

“You should,” Bucky says. “It’s… you shouldn’t miss that.”

He knew Bucky would tell him to go. That’s just who Bucky is. He’d never ask Sam to give something up for him and that’s what makes it all so much worse. It’s one of the reasons he loves Bucky so much- his heart and his selflessness and his capacity to care. But it’s also one of the things killing him right now.

Because he doesn’t know if Bucky even feels the distance between them. He doesn’t know if Bucky’s telling him to go because that’s just who Bucky is or if it’s because he doesn’t care if he spends the holidays away from Sam. If he’ll even be spending them alone if Sam isn’t here.

Sam wants to say something. He wants to ask if Bucky’ll miss him but he doesn’t. He can’t bring himself to say the words. He’s not sure he really wants the answer. He just wants to live in this space where he can pretend they’ll wake up tomorrow and everything will magically be just like it used to. He’s not ready to confront this because he’s not ready for the outcome.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll start looking for flights tonight.”

Bucky nods, then gets up and goes into their bedroom. Sam hears the shower turn on a minute later.

There was a time when he might have followed Bucky in. There was a time when Bucky might’ve dragged him in. There was a time when Sam wouldn’t have sat down at the kitchen table crying into his fists, wondering how it’s possible to feel so lonely when you’re supposedly sharing your life with the person you love most in the world.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 14, 2021)**

“It’s reverse, then first,” Bucky says and Sam is going to kill him. He knows how to drive a stick shift. He knows how to drive _this_ stick shift. He’s driven Bucky’s car a thousand times. He’s watched Bucky drive this car a thousand times. It’s not his fault Bucky insisted on buying an outdated piece of crap that sticks in every gear. Sam knows how to fucking drive it but it’s still a piece of shit.

“Man, go to sleep,” Sam snaps. That’s the whole point of this arrangement anyway. When Bucky arrived at the palace to pick Sam up and Sam saw that he was just getting off a night shift at the hospital and hadn’t slept yet, Sam offered to drive so he could at least get a couple hours in. Plus he figured it would make the whole situation less awkward if one of them was asleep and they didn’t have to actually interact.

But of course, Bucky is sitting in the passenger seat, wide fucking awake, judging Sam and trying to backseat drive. Passenger seat drive. Whatever.

“I’m not even tired anymore,” Bucky says with a big fucking grin and Sam hates him. He really fucking hates him.

Every time he tries to shift gears and the clutch sticks a little, Bucky’s face does that thing where he makes it very clear this is the most entertaining thing that’s ever happened but he doesn’t actually laugh. Just quietly picks away at Sam’s last nerve.

“Fuck you,” Sam barks and he’s not sure if it’s at Bucky or at the car or at the whole damn universe.

“I think you’re doing a great job,” Bucky says, mocking, and Sam has to take a deep breath just to keep himself from elbowing Bucky right in his beautiful fucking face.

“I’ll turn this car right the fuck around,” Sam mumbles to himself.

He hates Steve goddamn Rogers and his goddamn favors so much.

“Patron saint of soldiers,” Bucky says and Sam has to look at him because _what?_

“Patron saint of soldiers,” Bucky repeats without elaborating.

It takes a few minutes for Sam to get it but when it clicks, he feels the faintest flutter in his stomach. It’s a crossword clue, off the top of Bucky’s head.

“I don’t know,” Sam says. 

Bucky scrunches his brows together. “I think it’s Michael.”

“You asked me and you don’t even know the answer?” Sam says. He means for it to be incredulous. He’s pretty sure it comes out adoring.

“You’re the catholic,” Bucky says.

“Protestant,” Sam corrects. He’s not sure if that’s actually true anymore though.

Bucky twists a little in his seat, cracking his back. “Closer than Jewish.”

“You don’t even own a menorah.”

“There’s more to being Jewish than lighting candles,” Bucky says.

Sam gives him the side-eye. Bucky’s about as Jewish as Sam is straight. It was a life he used to live, in theory, but it never really stuck. Bucky cares about keeping kosher about as much as Sam cares about gender.

“I eat apples with honey on Rosh Hashanah,” Bucky says to himself and Sam can’t help but be endeared. He rolls his eyes but it’s out of affection. Bucky does do that, makes a big deal of doing it every year, and Sam never really understood why. Now he thinks that maybe it’s the one thing that makes Bucky feel anchored to the person he used to be, to his family and the way they used to celebrate their faith.

But Sam’s pretty sure Bucky doesn’t actually believe in a god anymore. How could he?

After that the drive passes in comfortable silence, with Bucky eventually falling asleep. Sam kind of wishes he was still awake. He likes when they’re getting along. It almost feels like it used to, like he could reach over the gearshift and take Bucky’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers.

He tries to imagine what would happen if he did. Would Bucky pull away? Would he look at Sam like he’s crazy? Or would he just let it happen? Would he bring Sam’s hand to his lips and hold it there for just a second, before resting their joined hands in his lap with a contented sigh? Is Bucky longing to touch Sam just as much as Sam is to touch him?

When they arrive at the ring-maker’s shop, Sam wakes Bucky with a soft nudge to his shoulder.

Bucky’s hand immediately flies up to cover Sam’s, his eyes still closed, and he makes the softest whining noise from the back of his throat and Sam is _undone_. He has never wanted anything more than he wants to lean over and bury his face in Bucky’s neck at this moment.

It only takes Bucky a second to open his eyes and become cognizant of where he is; and when he does, he releases Sam’s hand like it burned him. “Sorry,” he grumbles in that gravely just woke-up voice that always makes Sam’s knees weak.

For some reason the image that flashes through his mind is of the two of them squeezed into a sleeping bag, bodies pressed tightly together, and Sam longs to go back to that moment so bad he can feel it in his toes. He just wants a reason to touch Bucky, to be close to him and shielded away from the rest of the world, back before they ever gave each other the ammo to hurt one another.

It takes every ounce of strength for him to pull himself together and climb out of the vehicle and go inside to get those rings.

Bucky drives on the way back. Sam feels only mild resentment at the fact that the clutch doesn’t stick for him. Mostly he can’t stop thinking about all the times he’s sat in this very passenger seat while Bucky drove. The way Bucky would rest his hand on Sam’s thigh, lifting it every once in awhile to change gears, but always bringing it right back to Sam’s thigh, like a magnet. The way Bucky would turn his head to look at Sam when they were stopped at a red light, just to watch him. The way Bucky always let him choose the music and never complained, unless it was Bowie; he has such a weird thing about Bowie.

Today they listen to the radio. Neither of them have even touched the dial since they got in the car and Bucky’s hand has been resting on the gearshift the whole time. Sam’s hyperaware of it.

But Bucky does look at him every once in awhile, just small glances but they’re there. Sam’s waiting for the next glance so he can decide if today Bucky’s eyes match the color of the gray clouds swarming overhead when there’s a loud _pop_ followed by a _lump lump lump_.

A flat tire.

Bucky sighs and pulls over.

Sam feels strangely appreciative of this turn of events.

The thing is: they’re two grown men, two extensively trained grown men with highly specialized skills. They should know how to change a tire.

_Should_ being the operative word.

“Do you even have a wrench?” Sam asks. He at least knows that those lug nuts have to come off. He knows that’s an important step.

Bucky just stares at him for a few seconds before kneeling down to twist the lug nuts loose with his metal hand.

That works too.

Once they’re all loose, he looks back up at Sam, like he’s waiting for further instruction.

Sam throws his hands up. “Man, I don’t know.”

Bucky pulls out his phone and starts to type something in, probably googling how to change a flat tire.

Sam still can’t believe neither of them know how to do this. He’s beginning to wonder what other major lapses in common knowledge he has that he’s just never noticed. He’s even starting to wonder if he separates his laundry correctly before he puts it in the washing machine.

“Bring me the spare,” Bucky says and slips his phone back into his pocket.

Sam is pretty sure they’re missing a step in here somewhere - he’s pretty sure there should be a jack - but he hands the tire over anyway.

Bucky sets it on the ground next to him, then lifts the side of the car up with his metal hand, and starts to unscrew the lug nuts completely with his right, handing each one over to Sam. Then he pulls the old tire off and motions for Sam to hand him the spare one from where it’s sitting on the ground, which Sam does. Before Bucky releases the car, he puts the spare on and screws the lug nuts back in place.

When he’s done and the car is back resting on all four wheels, he looks at Sam and shrugs in what can only be interpreted as a g _ood enough_ manner; and while Sam finds what just happened outrageously hot, he’s not sure he wants to risk his life on _good enough_.

“You didn’t just turn your car into a death box, did you?” Sam asks.

Bucky opens the trunk and tosses the flat tire in. “Probably not.”

“Probably not?” Sam says. “You’re gonna have to do a lot better than probably not if you want me to get back in this metal piece of crap.”

Bucky closes the trunk and turns to Sam. “I can’t believe you don’t like my car.”

“Dude, your car is a piece of shit,” Sam says, kicking the spare tire Bucky just put on for emphasis.

Bucky laughs and it’s brilliant, it’s fucking beautiful, it’s the best sound Sam’s ever heard.

“I could just leave you here,” Bucky says, taking a step toward Sam. “But I think Steve would be pissed.”

Sam is trying really hard not to get distracted by Bucky’s… everything. By the way his t-shirt looks pulled tight over his chest. Or the playful grin on his mouth. Or the way his new haircut kind of makes him look like a cocky asshole.

The way cocky asshole might just be Sam’s new type.

Bucky takes another step toward Sam, and pretends to beg. “Will you please get in my piece of shit car?”

Sam can’t help it; it just comes out. “Make me,” he says and he _feels_ the way it shoots straight through Bucky, pulling at him, like they’re connected by a tightly coiled string.

All the looseness, the casual cocky demeanor, drains right out of Bucky and is replaced by simmering tension. His eyes are on Sam and he’s licking his lips and it looks like it’s taking every ounce of strength and control he has not to close the distance between them.

Sam wants him to. He feels it in every inch of his body, feels the breath get sucked right out of his lungs; and when Bucky drags his gaze down to Sam’s lips, Sam feels heat pooling low in his stomach. He wants Bucky’s lips on his so much it hurts. He wants to feel Bucky’s skin underneath his fingertips. He wants Bucky’s thighs pinning him against the car. He wants Bucky’s hands gripping him tight and taking control, the way he knows they both want him to.

Bucky takes a step closer and starts to raise his hand and there’s a _boom_ in the distance, followed by a _clap_ of lightning and the spell’s broken. Bucky’s hand stops in its path and his eyes snap up to meet Sam’s.

Sam swallows, hoping - _praying -_ Bucky will say fuck it and just go for it anyway but he feels the first drop of water on his cheek and he knows it’s over.

“We should get back before the storm really hits,” Bucky says, taking a step back.

Sam nods, too disappointed to even argue about whether or not the tire is properly changed.

The entire drive back all he can think about is how running an errand with Bucky is more exciting than any first date he’s ever been on.

 

* * *

 

**November 2020**

Sam smiles as he hands the woman in his apartment a glass of wine. He’s actually kind of amazed they made it to this point. Most of his dates usually end right after the check’s taken care of.

They’re all fine. The conversation is adequate and nobody makes a fool of themselves and they kiss on the cheek when the night’s over and someone says “I’ll call you” but nobody ever does because they don’t actually mean it. It’s just a thing you say to be polite, to make sure the other person knows you’re not interested in taking the evening any further. 

But the woman in Sam’s apartment right now is exactly the kind of person he’s always been attracted to. She’s intelligent and hilarious in a subtle and understated way. She’s gorgeous with a take-charge attitude. She’s everything Sam would want in a partner. His sister did an amazing job with this set-up.

And their date was great. The conversation flowed easily and they laughed, genuinely laughed, and they had so much in common, so much to talk about. And when the check was taken care of and she said, “How about we go back to your place?” Sam didn’t hesitate at all before agreeing. He wanted it too.

Now she’s in his apartment and she’s drinking a glass of wine and she looks good; that dress highlights every perfect curve of her body and Sam’s interested. He likes the sound of her voice and he likes the way her hand slides down his chest when he pulls her close and kisses her and he _really_ likes the way she pushes him down onto the couch before straddling him. He likes the way she takes charge and shows him exactly how she likes it and he likes the way her thighs feel in his grip.

She gasps into his mouth and rakes her nails down his chest and it’s good and he’s caught up in it and when she tells him she’s going to come he finds he’s right there with her and he does and it feels good to get off, to be left sweaty and panting.

And then she stands and starts pulling her clothes back on and he starts to come back down from the high and it doesn’t feel so great anymore. It doesn’t feel so right.

“I’ll call you,” he says, just before he closes the door, and once it clicks shut all he feels is hollow.

The only thing he knows is this isn’t what he wants.

He’s not going to call her.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 14, 2021)**

Sam and Bucky get back to the palace just as the storm really hits. There’s thunder and lightning and a torrential downpour that makes it almost impossible to see.

Sam looks out the window. “You might not be getting married in a couple of days,” he says.

“The storm’s supposed to pass by morning,” Steve says as he hands Bucky a dry pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

Bucky takes the clothes and doesn’t even bother to go somewhere else to change. He peels off his soaking wet shirt and that’s… yeah. Okay. Sam is definitely still into what is happening _there_ underneath the clothes. Bucky’s body. Just the muscles and the rippling and wow it really does look nice when it’s sort of glossy with a couple of drops of water running down it. 

Sam kind of wishes he had maybe changed into another pair of jeans instead of sweats right now so he’s just going to go ahead and take a seat on Steve’s couch.

“Do you think it’ll affect any flights?” Bucky asks, draping his wet clothes over the back of a chair.

Steve looks at him and it’s sort of chastising and Sam kind of wants to laugh even though it’s not really funny. It’s actually kind of sad that Bucky is hopeful that maybe Tony won’t be able to come for the wedding and Sam’s not sure why but the fact that Steve is silently judging him for it _is_ kind of hilarious.

Natasha walks in - also in sweats with her hair pulled up - and says, “I’m starving. Let’s order pizza.”

It’s like Wakanda and a hangover have turned her into an actual human being with actual human needs.

“Have you looked outside at all today?” Steve asks.

Nat sits next to Sam. “It’s just a little rain.”

“A little rain?” Bucky asks, running a hand through his soaking wet hair, drops of water falling to the floor.

She shrugs and says something in Russian, which causes Bucky to roll his eyes.

Steve looks at Sam. Sam has no clue, he never does, so he just shakes his head.

Steve looks at Nat. She looks back, completely unperturbed. “Food?” she asks.

Steve sighs. “Give me a minute.”

Steve leaves and Natasha says something in a language that is not Russian but that Sam still doesn’t understand. Bucky responds in a different language. Nat says something else. Bucky quips back. Nat comes seriously close to chuckling. Bucky speaks again and Nat throws a decorative pillow at him. Bucky swats it away, completely unbothered, and walks over to the window.

Steve comes back in, his arms full of snack food and a bag of chips clutched between his teeth. He dumps it on the coffee table in front of Sam and Nat and says, “Pizza will be ready in twenty minutes.”

“Told you it was just a little rain,” Nat says, tearing open the bag of chips.

“That or there’s a fully staffed kitchen here,” Steve says, grabbing the bag from her and shoving his hand in it.

They end up watching _Dirty Dancing_ and Sam doesn’t miss the way Nat keeps mouthing the words.

By the time the credits are rolling almost all of the food is gone and there are blankets and pillows everywhere. Sam’s still sitting in the same spot at the edge of the couch but he now has Natasha’s head in his lap. Steve’s on the chaise lounge with his legs crossed at his ankles and his hands behind his head and Bucky’s lying on the floor with an actual pillow, legs bent at the knees, head turned toward the screen.

A few seconds after Merry Clayton’s voice fills the room, Nat says, “Are you nervous about marrying T’Challa?”

Steve and Bucky both turn to face her.

“Not really,” Steve says, and the words bring a smile to his face. Like maybe he didn’t know that was true until someone asked him, until he said it out loud.

Natasha’s quiet for a moment before she speaks again. “How’d you know?”

“Know what?” Steve asks.

“That he was worth giving it all up for. Your life. The shield.”

Her voice is… small. It’s the only way to describe it. She sounds _small_ , vulnerable, like just asking this is giving away a piece of herself she’s not sure she’s ready to part with yet.

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “I guess I never felt like I was giving anything up.”

Nat sits up. “But you did. You left it all behind. And you’re happy now.”

Steve considers this. “What I have here, it’s what I always wanted. My job here and the work I do _with_ T’Challa, it’s…” he pauses, like he’s not sure how to say what he wants to. “I don’t ever have to compromise who I am or what I believe in to be with him. I didn’t give anything up.”

She’s looking down at the floor like she’s trying to process what Steve’s saying, trying to understand it. Like the idea that a person can still be who they are, even without the title they were groomed for, is so foreign she almost can’t grasp it.

“What’s going on, Nat?” Steve asks. His posture is still loose but the creases in his forehead say he’s concerned.

Natasha swallows. She’s working through something in her head and they’re all willing to wait her out, to respect the quiet while she figures out how to say it. “I’m just… I’m wondering if maybe I could be more too. If maybe I could be happy.”

Sam’s immediate response is to squeeze her shoulder and Steve says, “You can be anything you want to be” and it’s kind of cheesy but it’s true because he doesn’t mean it in the ‘follow your dreams’ sense; he means that she’s not confined to the life everybody else told her she has to have. She doesn’t have to be Black Widow if she doesn’t want to. She can do good and make-up for all the bad she thinks she’s done without drowning herself in it. She’s allowed to carve out a piece of life for herself.

“But you do love him, right?” Natasha asks. It’s meant to be a joke, to lighten the mood and take the attention off of her life-changing revelation, but the seriousness still hangs in the air.

“More than anything,” Steve says, no hesitation, no doubt.

Sam glances at the floor and finds Bucky looking back at him. Sam doesn’t know what the look on his face means but he feels the weight of it settle right in his chest. 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Still on tumblr at bisexualbcky.](http://bisexualbcky.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Still got an embarrassing playlist for this up.](http://hypster.com/playlists/user/bisexualbcky?7189832)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh it's here! The break-up!
> 
> So I definitely wrote at least 5k of this while sitting in the service waiting room at Honda. Shoutout to the elderly gentleman who kept trying to lean over to see what I was writing in the LEAST discreet manner possible. Hope you enjoyed the gay love, sir.
> 
> Just for the record: I know this is not really how a rehearsal dinner works. But I do not care.
> 
> Enjoy? Please don't be mad at me. I'm small and I need love.

**Present Day (June 15, 2021)**

Sam smells coffee. He’s starting to get used to this. He wonders if he can get Nat to continue this trend when they get back to New York.

If she even comes back to New York. After last night, he’s not entirely sure she will. He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. She’s so much happier here, so much lighter. There’s no saying that would last, that it’s sustainable in the long run but what’s the harm in trying? She deserves the opportunity to try at least.

Selfishly, he doesn’t want her to. He wants her in New York with him. It’s wildly unfair for him to even think that, but he _does_ think it and a small piece of him even hopes that she decides she’s not ready to give up the Avengers, just so that she’ll go back with him.

He’s a deeply flawed human being and he knows it. He likes to think of himself as a work in progress.

“Give me that coffee,” he grumbles and opens his eyes. It takes him a minute to get his bearings because he’s definitely not in the bed he’s been sleeping in since he got to Wakanda.

After a couple seconds he realizes he’s lying on Steve’s couch because that’s where he fell asleep last night.

A cup of coffee is placed in his hand and he makes eye contact with Bucky.

Because he slept here too and now he’s handing Sam a mug.

Sam is momentarily reminded of the look they shared last night - the one he still doesn’t know how to interpret but that he can feel in every inch of his body - before pushing the thought out of his mind and sitting up. 

He accepts the coffee. “Thanks,” he says. It’s awkward and he knows it so he looks around for Nat or Steve to help make things less so.

Neither of them are here. It’s just him and Bucky, first thing in the morning, waking up together but not _together_ because Sam slept on the couch and Bucky slept on the floor and if they were actually waking up together Bucky’s thumb would probably be tracing circles into Sam’s skin and his lips would be on the back of Sam’s neck and this whole situation would be significantly less awkward.

Or maybe ten times worse. It’s too early for Sam to decide which.

Bucky clears his throat. “Steve had to go take care of something. For the wedding, I think.”

Sam nods. “Where’d Nat go?”

Bucky rubs his hand over the stubble on his chin. “Probably still with Nakia.”

Sam nearly chokes on his coffee. “What?”

“She snuck out around two,” Bucky says and sits down. “I just assumed she was going to Nakia’s room.”

“Why would she go to Nakia’s room?”

Bucky looks at him like the answer is the most obvious thing in the world.

Sam knows what he’s getting at here, he does, but he needs him to say it. Explicitly. No room for interpretation.

“They’ve been sleeping together for years,” Bucky says. “How do you not know this?”

“How do _you_?”

“They’re not exactly careful about it.”

“So everyone just knows? It’s just common knowledge?”

“No it’s definitely a secret,” Bucky says. “Hence, the sneaking around.”

Sam throws his hands up. “So how do you know?”

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to laugh. Sam does not think it’s funny.

“Just cause they sneak around doesn’t mean they’re good at it,” Bucky says.

“How are they sleeping together? They don’t even live on the same continent.” Sam says this more to himself than anything. He can’t believe he didn’t know. He didn’t even suspect it. The thought never crossed his mind. He might just be the worst friend in the entire world. Or maybe just the least observant one.

Bucky’s gaze drops to the floor. “You don’t have to live near someone to want them.”

Sam _feels_ it more than he hears it but he doesn’t know what to do with it. He’s not even sure he’s capable of truly processing all the nuances of it right now so he files it away for later, something to think about when he’s torturing himself with thoughts of Bucky and the demise of their relationship. And that look they shared last night. What the hell did that look mean? Right now is not the time to dwell on it though. Right now is the time to pretend like everything is fine and normal and not weird at all.

“I can’t believe you never told me.” He says it jokingly, a fake accusation. He wants to lighten the mood, get some banter going. They’re good at banter.

“I can’t believe you never noticed,” Bucky quips back, with a grin. Because _banter_.

“Who else is fucking that I don’t know about?” Sam asks.

Bucky scrunches up his face like he’s thinking really hard about it. “I think,” he says, “Steve and T’Challa might be.”

Sam throws the pillow he was sleeping with at Bucky’s head. Bucky catches it and holds it to his chest, like a kid would hold a stuffed bear. He looks so soft and Sam notices for the first time since opening his eyes this morning that Bucky’s hair is all messed up from sleeping on it. It’s not a disaster and it’s not even really sticking up all over the place, but it definitely looks slept on. It’s adorable.

God, Sam wants to run his fingers through it.

He picks up his mug of coffee just so that his hands have something to do and notices that Bucky doesn’t have one.

He looks down at the coffee in his hand. It’s significantly darker with way less sugar than Sam likes it.

“Did you give me your coffee?” he asks.

Bucky doesn’t even try to deny it. “Yes.”

Sam raises an eyebrow at that. Who just hands over their coffee?

“You asked for it,” Bucky says. “And you’re kind of a dick without caffeine.”

“It tastes like shit,” Sam says and takes a sip. It tastes alright.

Bucky gestures at Sam as if to say “Exhibit A.”

Sam hides his smile behind the mug. He likes Bucky like this- when he’s not afraid to insult Sam because there’s not a huge strain on their relationship. When he can be open and say the first thing that comes to mind because the conversation flows easily. When they can poke at each other without fear of causing any irreparable damage cause they’re not already bleeding out everywhere.

Sam misses this so much.

“You’re such an asshole,” he says because he doesn’t mean it at all.

There’s an electricity in the air between them now. Sam feels it as he takes a sip from the mug, keeping his eyes on Bucky. 

Bucky leans back deeper into the chair he’s sitting in, let’s his legs fall open wider, and now Sam is having trouble thinking about anything other than the fact that he knows - excruciatingly, painfully, intimately - how much Bucky likes getting off first thing in the morning.

And the way his eyes are on Sam right now - watching him, tracking his every movement - it looks like he’s thinking about the exact same thing.

Sam is really trying to come up with a reason, just one, that having hot and steamy morning sex with an ex is a bad idea. Somewhere in the periphery of his mind his memories are screaming at him - something about loneliness and regrets and infidelity - but right at the forefront is the sound of Bucky gasping _baby_ and _fuck_ and _yes_ and right now Sam wants the sound of Bucky getting off in his ear far more than he wants to do the responsible thing and think about why it’s a bad idea.

Bucky’s still staring back at him and the tension between them is suffocating. Sam needs to do something, anything, to ease it.

“If you want your coffee back, why don’t you come and get it?” he says. He knows Bucky doesn’t want his coffee back. He knows that’s not why Bucky’s watching him. But he’s hoping it will spur Bucky into action. Bucky’s never been very good at backing down from Sam challenging him and Sam just wants Bucky closer to him, wants Bucky’s hands on him, even if it’s just to take the coffee. He knows once any part of their bodies touch, that’ll be it. They won’t be able to keep their hands off of each other. He can feel exactly what this moment is charged with.

“Not necessary. I brought coffee for everyone,” Natasha says from behind Sam and he jumps enough to spill a little of the coffee he’s already holding on his shirt. “Go get changed. We have to pick Tony up.”

And just like that the spell is broken.

Bucky clears his throat and stands up. “I have to go to work.”

He looks at Sam for a second longer, almost like he’s trying to telepathically communicate something - and Sam desperately wants to know what it is - before he walks out the door, accepting a cup of fresh coffee from Nat on the way out.

“Come on,” Nat says, prompting Sam to finally get up. It’s going to be a long day between now and when he gets to see Bucky again at the rehearsal dinner tonight.

 

* * *

 

**December 2019**

“How many times are you going to look at that damn phone?”

Sam only spares his sister a glance before opening up his messages. There aren’t any new ones of course. No missed calls or voicemails either. There’s nothing. Sam’s been in New York for three days now and besides the text he sent letting Bucky know he arrived safely and Bucky’s reply of _Have fun_ they haven’t talked at all. It’s the longest they’ve ever gone without speaking.

Even that time Sam went with Steve to the conference in Beijing and was actually busy the whole time he was there, they talked constantly. They’ve never gone more than half a day without some form of communication and now they’re going on seventy-two hours and all Sam has to distract himself from the fact that his boyfriend doesn’t even miss him is his sister’s contractions once every seven or so minutes.

He sighs and puts his phone back in his pocket.

“Why don’t you just call him?” his sister says.

He has no idea how she even knows what’s going on. He hasn’t said anything about any of it to her.

“Oh please,” she says, like she can actually read his mind. “You’ve been a mess since you got here and you haven’t said a single word about him. There was a time you couldn’t go two sentences without bringing him up. So whatever it is, whatever’s going on between you two, just call him. You can’t fix it if you don’t talk to him.”

She’s right but there’s still something holding him back. He’s still terrified that if he brings it up, he’ll get a response he doesn’t want. He’s not sure if he can handle the truth. He’s not even sure if the truth will make a difference at this point. He’s so tired of feeling lonely, of feeling like he’s the very last thought on his boyfriend’s mind. He doesn’t even feel like he’s living his own life anymore; he feels like all he does it sit around and wait for Bucky. Bucky who is showing up less and less. Sam is tired of feeling like a spectator in his own life.

His brother-in-law comes into the room and goes straight to his wife, taking her face in his hands and kissing her forehead. “I’m so sorry I’m late. How are you? How’s the baby? What do you need?”

He doesn’t even notice Sam is sitting in a chair off to the side. His entire world is his pregnant wife and Sam is so happy for his sister, so grateful she found someone who actually deserves her, but he’s having trouble feeling anything other than bone-crushing, heart-stopping _hurt_.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 15, 2021)**

Sam is sitting behind Natasha in the van, his eyes dart between her and Nakia, who’s driving, looking for any sign of their apparent-romance but he’s finding none. Not even a stolen glance out of the corner of their eyes. Nothing. Yet, he knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Bucky’s right. He doesn’t know how he knows, he just does. These two have totally been fucking for years.

He wonders if it’s just about sex or if they have an emotional connection too, if Nakia is the reason for Nat’s unexplained happiness since they got here. He wonders, if that’s true, how they possibly kept it going for years when Natasha’s been to Wakanda a whopping total of four times.

At least those are the only times Sam knows about. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Natasha actually owns a house and has children somewhere that he’s never heard of. It would make no sense whatsoever, but nothing in this universe really does.

That line of thinking is only going to give him a headache though. He could bring it up, just ask them flat-out what’s going on between them, but he thinks maybe he owes Nat a little more discretion than that. She doesn’t want people knowing about it for a reason. Bringing it up in front of Nakia would just be a dick move.

A funny one.

But a dick one nonetheless.

He needs to think about something else.

Unfortunately, the only other thing on his mind right now is Bucky. Bucky and sex. Bucky and a moment that felt far more significant than just sex. Bucky and the way he keeps looking at Sam and the nice things he keeps doing and the way Sam wants to touch him but also to talk to him and to laugh with him and to kiss him and to just be near him. Bucky and the way Sam is still completely and totally in love with him.

Bucky and the way that maybe he still loves Sam too.

In New York, the fact that Sam was still in love with Bucky - though he tried his best to bury it deep down - terrified him. It felt like the worst thing in the world, like a punishment doled out specifically for him, just to make him pay for all the wrong he’s done in his life. Now it doesn’t seem so bad. Now it feels, however tentatively, like a breath of hope. 

But he’s not ready to think about it yet. This feeling he has, the one where maybe things will be okay, it feels too new, too fragile. It’s too soon to let himself really have it, so he has to distract himself.

“Why are we picking Tony up from the airport? Can’t he just fly his jet right onto the palace grounds? Save everyone a three hour drive?” he asks.

“Mr. Stark is a guest in Wakanda,” Nakia says, like that explains everything. Sam guesses it kind of does.

Watching Nakia search Tony and his luggage, taking things out and saying Tony can’t bring them into Wakanda, is actually hilarious. The look on Tony’s face when Nakia says the suit has to stay on the jet might just be the most entertaining thing Sam has ever seen in his entire life. He can see the protest forming on Tony’s lips before Pepper puts a hand on his shoulder, subduing him.

When they’re all inside the van and on the road back to Wakanda - Sam sitting all the way in the back like the gentleman he is - Tony makes a comment about feeling like a third class citizen.

Pepper rolls her eyes and Sam can’t see Nat’s face but he knows she’s smirking, finding joy in Tony’s annoyance.

Nakia remains calm as ever. “Not a third-class citizen. A guest, like anyone else visiting our country.”

Tony huffs. “Oh really? Did little miss Black Widow here give up her electroshock bites?”

Nakia turns her signal on, getting ready to change lanes. “Ms. Romanoff has no interest in murdering any of our citizens.”

It’s a good point. Sam’s pretty sure Nat doesn’t even have her bracelets with her - she never would’ve been able to get past airport security - but the point is valid nonetheless.

Tony doesn’t agree. “Oh this is about Barnes? Did anybody make him surrender that arm when he got here? Because I’m pretty sure that thing is responsible for more deaths than any suit I’ve ever worn. But don’t take my word for it. Let’s just ask him for a mission report. I’m sure he’d be glad to recount every innocent life he took, starting with my mother’s.”

“Are you done?” Nakia asks after a beat, completely unaffected by Tony and his indignation.

Tony looks out the window and Pepper squeezes his hand. “For now,” he says.

“Good,” Nakia says. “Mr. Barnes is a respected member of our community. The King is quite fond of him.”

“Oh really? The guy marrying the Winter Soldier’s best friend has a favorable opinion of him? That’s shocking. Please tell me more,” Tony says and this time Pepper swats his chest with the back of her hand.

Sam can tell it’s going to be an interesting couple of days. A week ago, maybe even a couple of days ago, he would’ve found Tony’s simmering rage comforting. It would’ve been something to distract him from the pain and the hurt of everything that happened between him and Bucky, but now it just feels like a headache, like an unwelcome chore. He wants Bucky’s attention on him. He wants to see where these moments they keep sharing are going to lead to. He wants to know if he’s the only one who feels that nothing’s really finished between them, that they’re not anywhere close to over yet.

 

* * *

 

**December 2019**

Sam cannot believe so much joy can be contained in such a tiny vessel. His niece is perfect. She fits right in the crook of his arm, and every once in awhile she blinks her eyes open, not really focusing on anything, just to close them again. Her little nose and her tiny fingers and the thin sweeping of hair across her mostly bald head. It’s all so beautiful and so perfect. She’s so little and so innocent and Sam wants to protect her from the cruelty of the world forever. He never wants to let her go.

“You did good,” he whispers to his sister. There’s no need to whisper. The tiny baby in his arms could probably sleep through a rock concert right now but there’s something about the softness of her, of being responsible for her safety, even if just in the moment, that compels him to be soft as well.

His sister smiles back at him. She’s exhausted and she’s beautiful and Sam is so proud of her.

“Do you think you’ll have any of your own?” she asks. Her eyelids are half-closed already and they fall completely shut before Sam can answer. It’s a good thing because he doesn’t know how to.

He’s always wanted kids. The older he got, the less realistic it seemed and the less he was sure it was something he _would_ do but he still always wanted them. In a perfect world, he’d have two or three. In a perfect world, the question wouldn’t feel like a knife to his gut. In a perfect world, he’d take a picture of this tiny little princess and send it to his boyfriend with the caption “I want one” and his boyfriend would reply with a joke telling him to hurry up and get home so they could start practicing; and then a few days later, one of them would bring it up for real and they’d have a quiet conversation about it, not necessarily coming to a decision, but making vague plans about the future, and there would be kisses and gentle touches and Sam would feel safe and secure in his relationship and their life together.

Right now all he feels is a sense of dread, a weird juxtaposition of heaviness in his chest and lightness in his fingertips, like he’s being weighed down but he doesn’t have enough strength to hold on to the one thing he can feel slipping through his fingers. Like there’s nothing he can do.

And it’s so reminiscent of every other horrible moment of his life. Of getting the phone call about his parents, watching the zipper on the body bags come undone just so that he could confirm that y _es_ those are his parents and _no_ he didn’t show up in time to do anything about it. Of being up in the sky, with all the training and experience the world could offer him, seeing his best friend get struck down and not being able to do anything but watch.

Sam’s been watching his relationship fall apart for months, been feeling it slip through his fingers, and no matter how hard he tries to hold on, he’s left feeling empty and alone and miserable. He doesn’t want this anymore. This isn’t the person he thought he’d be. This isn’t the life he thought he’d have. He wants these moments - the ones where he holds his newborn niece in his arms and feels the joy of new life - not the ones where he goes to bed alone, wondering if the love of his life even remembers he exists. He can’t… he can’t feel like this anymore. He can’t do this anymore.

 

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 15, 2021)**

Sam is nervous. It doesn’t really make sense- he just saw Bucky this morning. But still, he’s nervous. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen between them and he’s not entirely sure what he wants to happen but he definitely wants _something_ to.

He’s checked his reflection in the mirror at least a dozen times but he checks again. [He looks good. Suit without the tie, top button undone](http://www4.pictures.zimbio.com/gi/Anthony+Mackie+Entertainment+Weekly+Celebration+uMN-LMdsQiwl.jpg). It’s definitely working for him. He likes the casualness of it, like he doesn’t need to put forth any real effort in order to look good. He checks his teeth one more time: all clear; and gives himself a dash of cologne, only enough to be noticeable if someone is standing close enough. 

He takes a deep breath and heads for the other side of the palace. The wedding’s going to be outside in the gardens tomorrow but tonight the rehearsal dinner will be in the ballroom. Sam didn’t even know this place had a ballroom. He’s honestly not even sure if he’s seen half of the palace. It’s huge and sort of like a maze. He could probably get lost if he wandered long enough.

Tonight, though, he heads straight for his destination. The anticipation of what the night will bring is too big a draw for him to get distracted. It’s sort of exhilarating. He can’t remember the last time he felt nervous in a good way, a hopeful way.

Tonight just feels big. It’s the only way he can describe it. Whatever’s going to happen, it’s going to be significant. It feels right somehow to try and figure things out in time for the wedding tomorrow, to be able to celebrate love and the official joining of two lives, hopefully with the person he loves most. The timing is good.

When he gets to the ballroom entrance he takes a deep breath, shakes his arms out a little, and heads in. He scans the room and immediately finds Bucky, like his eyes are drawn straight to him. He’s sitting at a table on the other side of the room and he looks… devastating. [He’s wearing all black and it’s somehow, against all logic, sharpening his features](http://www.celebitchy.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/wenn211818471.jpg). His cheekbones look more pronounced and his jawline is lethal and Sam’s one over-arching thought is that he wants to feel that stubble scrape across his own skin. He cannot believe he let himself stop looking at that face for a year and a half.

It only takes Bucky a couple seconds to notice Sam’s presence and make eye contact, and when he does, Sam can see the rise of his chest as he takes a deep breath in. He feels a smug satisfaction at that and he’s about to make his way over to him when Nat comes up beside him.

“We’re over here,” she says, slipping her arm into his and guiding him to a table nowhere near where Bucky’s sitting. He goes willingly but only because resisting will only lead to questions he knows he doesn’t have an answer for yet. He’ll talk to Bucky later. They have the whole night.

Tony and Pepper are escorted over to their table a moment later and Sam finds the idea that Tony requires an escort hilarious. What is he actually going to do without his suit or any other weapon, right here in the middle of all these people, at the rehearsal dinner for Steve and T’Challa’s wedding. Tony is not a stupid man and he has more class, and probably dignity, than that. It’s absurd. Still, the idea of Tony requiring a babysitter is amusing and Sam’s not going to pretend like it’s not.

“This is nice,” Pepper says, looking around.

Sam notices the elegance of the room now that someone else has pointed it out. It’s definitely fit for a king and his future husband, dripping with opulence, yet somehow understated. It’s effortlessly grand For some reason it reminds him of that scene in _Beauty and the Beast_ \- the one where they dance around the room to the title track even though there’s nobody else there, save for a bunch of animate objects. It’s a silly comparison and he’s not sure why he even thinks it, but it is what it is. Now he can’t stop wondering who’s the beast and who’s the beauty. Technically, T’Challa’s the prince, but Steve’s the one who got turned into a bigger, more obvious version of himself, of who he is on the inside. Sam cannot believe this is the train of thought his mind is supplying him with right now…

Thankfully Tony pats him on the shoulder, drawing him out of his ridiculous thoughts. He says, “How are you doing? You feeling good? You look good.”

“I’m… fine,” Sam says and it comes out like a question. Not because he doesn’t know how he’s doing but because he doesn’t know why Tony is telling him he looks good.

Apart from the fact that he obviously looks good.

Tony leans in a little and lowers his voice. “You’re doing okay though, right? With the Barnes situation.”

Oh. Tony is trying to do the break-up-wing-man thing. It’s not necessary. Sam’s feeling good. His hands are shaking a little from the nerves, and from just how stunningly handsome Bucky looks and all the things left untouched that have been building between them, but he’s good. Almost happy, even.

“Everything’s okay, man,” he says. It’s true. Everything is okay.

Involuntarily, his gaze goes back to Bucky. 

Bucky, who’s still staring right back at him. Bucky, who presumably hasn’t taken his eyes off of him once. Bucky, who’s head is now turning to greet the person coming up behind him. Bucky, who’s now standing up to pull out the chair next to him for an achingly familiar face.

There’s a lump forming in Sam’s throat. He would recognize that smiling face anywhere. It’s the face of a woman who broke his heart once before and this sinking feeling he’s experiencing right now is agonizingly familiar. He tries to swallow but his throat his dry.

The only thing that seems to be happening right now is Bucky smiling openly, genuinely back at that woman, pushing her chair in for her, engaged in conversation, and Sam on the other side of the room, already forgotten.

The floor is still there, right beneath his feet just like it was two seconds ago; he can see it but he can’t feel it. He might as well be floating through space right now, just sailing away, up into a night sky that’s going to swallow him whole, for how empty he feels all of a sudden. His hands are trembling but it’s not with anticipation; it’s with anguish, maybe even humiliation.

How could he possibly have thought they were headed somewhere good? After everything Bucky put him through - the gradual distance he let grow between them, the late nights, the forgotten calls, the lies. How could Sam have let himself believe anything had changed? If Bucky had wanted to be with him, if he was still in love with Sam, he wouldn’t have let him go in the first place. He wouldn’t have had coffee with that woman and he wouldn’t be absorbed in conversation with her right now.

If Bucky still loved him, Sam wouldn’t feel his world spinning out of control, his gut being ripped open, and his heart tumbling out of his chest.

There’s a flute of champagne being shoved into his hand and it takes Sam a minute to snap out of his world closing in on him and back to reality.

“Drink this,” Nat says. She looks concerned but a quick glance around the table let’s him know that nobody else is aware of his internal breakdown.

Nat looks away as soon as he takes the flute from her but he feels her knee resting against his, a show of solidarity, of support, and he feels marginally calmed. He’s got Nat. He’s even got Tony and Pepper. It will be okay. He can get through this night and he can get through tomorrow, just like he’s been getting through the last year and a half. He can do this, no problem.

He downs the champagne and turns his attention to the front of the room where T’Challa is now standing, about to address everyone in attendance.

Sam has no idea what he says - just claps when everyone else does, pastes a smile on his face when everyone else is laughing, and holds his newly refilled glass for a toast when Natasha elbows him. He’s too focused on not looking in Bucky’s direction, while the image of him turning and smiling so widely at that woman plays over and over in his mind, interspersed with a highlight reel of all the times Sam felt his heart breaking back when him and Bucky were still together.

Gradually, he feels himself becoming less hurt and more angry. Bucky could’ve said something at any point during the last few days. He could’ve said something at the bar. He could’ve said something when he dragged Sam outside and then walked him home. He didn’t have to flirt with Sam, to tease him with relics of their past life together. He didn’t have to stare at Sam so intently, like he was trying to make Sam understand something. He could’ve just used his fucking words like an adult and said, “Sam, I think I should be the one to tell you that I’m seeing someone else.”

And, dammit, now that Sam’s thinking about it somebody else could’ve told him. Anyone of his friends could’ve warned him.

He only lets himself be mad at them for a minute though because it’s not their fault and he knows that he made it explicitly clear that he didn’t want to know anything about Bucky’s new life without him.

So. Back to being pissed at Bucky.

All through dinner he can feel a bitterness pulsing through his veins. He also feels the urge to look back over at Bucky’s table but he resists with every ounce of strength he has. He refuses to give in, to let Bucky have that kind of power over him ever again. He shoves food in his mouth, downs another flute of champagne, and laughs at the appropriate times in the conversation swirling around him. And when Steve comes by to say hi and ask how everyone’s doing, Sam lies through his teeth and pretends like he feels nothing but happiness and joy.

“So what time is the bachelor party?” Tony asks and Steve laughs, indulging.

“I’m serious,” Tony says. “You can’t get married tomorrow if you haven’t had a bachelor party. It’s tradition.”

“Not in Wakanda it’s not,” Steve says with a grin, backing away. 

“Hey this conversation isn’t finished,” Tony says, getting up to follow Steve.

“You okay?” Nat whispers in Sam’s ear.

“Mhmm,” Sam says with a barely formed nod. Now is not the time or the place to unload his anger or his hurt.

She looks like there’s not a chance in hell that she believes him but she doesn’t call him on it. Instead she says, “Dance with me.”

She pulls him up out of his seat and into the middle of the room where there’s already a small group of people swaying back and forth to the soft music that’s filling the room.

Nat holds her hand up and, with a grin, says, “I’ll even let you lead.”

Sam rolls his eyes but he takes her hand and wraps his other arm around her waist. He’s not even sure he remembers how to lead. He has a strong suspicion he’s not actually doing it and Natasha’s just letting him think he is but he doesn’t really care. He’s not all that concerned with dancing at the moment.

He’s more concerned with Bucky, standing off to the side, trying to make eye contact with him. Sam does his very best not to notice him, to pretend like he doesn’t exist, but that strategy only goes so far before Bucky’s moving, walking in a direct path, his destination unmistakable.

Sam feels his hands start to shake again and does his best to steady them. He has no idea what’s about to happen but he knows he doesn’t want it to, knows he’d rather be anywhere else in the world right now.

When Bucky does make it to where they are on the dance floor, he pastes on that charming smile of his - the one that Sam would’ve killed for in a different lifetime - and says, “May I cut in?”

Something about it makes Sam angrier than he’s ever felt before.

“Be my guest,” he spits and walks away, leaving Nat standing with Bucky in the middle of the dance floor, staring after him.

Sam is so angry he doesn’t even know what to do. He walks straight out of the room, out into the hallway, out, out, out, until he finds himself actually outside of the palace, standing on grass, underneath a tent that’s already been set up for tomorrow’s events. He can’t even see the stars in the sky overhead but he doesn’t care. He’s too angry, too hurt, too overwhelmed to care about anything but getting oxygen into his lungs.

He runs his hand over his head and then jumps when he turns back around to see Tony standing right there.

“So I’m guessing that whole thing about you being fine was a bit of an exaggeration,” Tony says.

Sam takes a deep breath. He’s not fine, not at all, but he doesn’t want to have this conversation with Tony. There are just too many layers to it. He wants to be able to be pissed, to _hate_ Bucky, without feeling like he has to defend him on a completely different front. Sam just doesn’t have the energy for this, not right now.

He digs the heals of his hands into his eyes, wishing to be literally anywhere else in the world right now, and Tony says, “Speak of the devil.” 

Sam opens his eyes to see Bucky standing there, completely ignoring Tony, frustration written all over his face.

“Can we talk?” he says to Sam.

Tony speaks before Sam can even open his mouth. “I’m sorry but I think it’s pretty clear that my friend and I here were already in the middle of something so it would be great if you could take your face and general murderous presence elsewhere. Thanks.”

Bucky spares Tony one irritated glance before looking back at Sam and waiting for his response.

There’s so much tension in the air, Sam can hardly breathe. He doesn’t want to do this. With either of them. But he’s afraid if he doesn’t do something, somebody is going to die. Probably Tony.

“It’s okay, Tony,” he says. It’s not okay, not really in any way at all, but he knows that getting Tony inside and away from Bucky is the best option at this point.

“I really don’t think it is,” Tony says and Sam is going to scream. This is not helping.

“Tony,” he pleads. He doesn’t want this to be any more difficult than it has to be.

“Fine,” Tony says. “I’ll be inside.”

Sam watches him make his way back in, not yet ready to look at Bucky.

Once Tony’s inside, Bucky says, “Wilson.” It’s so soft, barely above a whisper, and Sam hates the way it tugs at his heart.

He can’t help it, his eyes go directly to Bucky, who’s looking back at him with the most agonized expression Sam has ever seen on his face. And just like that, Sam’s caught up in how much he loves this man, in the heartbreak he’s been feeling on repeat for almost two years now, on the life they could have had together before Bucky threw it down the drain.

He feels his heart breaking again, wishing with every cell in his body that Bucky hadn’t been so selfish, so reckless with their love.

He wishes Bucky would just let him go already.

“What do you want from me?” Sam demands. It’s not loud but it doesn’t need to be.

The look of pain on Bucky’s face melts into something more closely resembling contempt. He rubs his jaw before laughing, no joy in it, and says, “You broke up with me, Sam.”

That was not the response Sam was expecting and the only reaction he’s capable of is to just stare back at Bucky, waiting for him to make his point.

Bucky looks at the ground and runs his hand through his hair. It takes several seconds before he looks back up and when he does, his eyes are brimming with tears on the verge of spilling over. He runs his teeth over his bottom lip. It’s a coping mechanism, a distraction while he tries to pull himself together.

“You broke up with me,” he says again, this time quieter, more broken. "You just got on a plane one day and you never came back.”

He swallows and it’s like Sam can feel his pain seeping into his own skin.

“You didn’t have to let me go,” he says, with force. He doesn’t mean to say it but the truth is he’s still mad that Bucky didn’t fight harder for him, didn’t fight for him at all.

Bucky, in a rare instance of unbridled anger, pulls at his hair, incredulous, and shouts. “You went somewhere you _knew_ I couldn’t follow and you ended it in a thirty-seven second phone call, Sam. You gave up everything we had. What was I supposed to do?”

“Anything,” Sam shouts backs. “Literally, anything.”

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. He looks down at the floor and takes a shaky breath. When he looks back up at Sam, his expression is closed-off.

“If you really wanted me to do something, you wouldn’t have flown an ocean away just to leave me,” he says, then turns around and walks away, leaving Sam out in the cool summer night air by himself.

 

 

* * *

 

**December 2019**

Sam has his phone in his hand and he knows what he has to do, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. He uses the sound of the incoming ambulance as an excuse to put it off for a few more seconds, anything to postpone the pain he knows he’s about to feel rip through his entire body.

He leans against the brick on the outside of the hospital and takes a deep breath. He’s not ready to do this.

He has to do this.

He presses _call_ and brings the phone to his ear, listening to it ring in Wakanda.

Bucky picks up after just two rings. “Hey.”

He sounds anxious but Sam can’t bring himself to ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t have it in him to drag this out any longer than he needs to and if he does, he might not be able to go through with it.

“Hey, we need to talk,” he says.

“What’s wrong?”

Sam has to bite his lip just to keep from breaking. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” Bucky asks but there’s no way he doesn’t know the answer. They haven’t even spoken for three days.

Sam clears his throat. “Us.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line and, despite everything he’s been feeling for months now, the thing Sam wants more than anything right now is for Bucky to argue with him, to tell him not to do this, to tell him they can fix it.

To say _anything_ , anything at all just to stop Sam’s heart from shattering into a million tiny pieces.

All he gets is silence.

He takes one last shaky breath and finishes it. “I’m… I’m not coming back.”

“Sam-”

“I gotta go,” he says and hangs up, immediately breaking down, his body wracked with sobs.

He had no idea leaving could hurt this bad.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 15, 2021)**

Sam’s not sure how long he stays out in the dark by himself after he watches Bucky go. Long enough to calm himself down, to dry the tears of anger and of heartache he couldn’t stop from spilling over, to compose himself enough to go back inside and pretend like everything’s fine.

It takes him some time to find the ballroom again - not really remembering the route he took to get outside in the first place - and when he does he immediately runs into Steve.

“Sam, hey,” Steve says. “Have you seen Bucky?”

Sam may be having one of the worst nights of his life but he’s not selfish enough to ruin it for Steve too.

“No, sorry,” he says. It’s a lie but it doesn’t matter. He has no idea where Bucky is right now anyway.

“You know Doctor Maiyo, right?” Steve says, gesturing next to him and Sam notices that Steve’s not alone. In fact, he’s standing with the very woman whose face still haunts one of Sam’s most painful memories.

She holds out her hand and says, “You must be Sam Wilson. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Sam is too confounded by that to do anything but take her hand and nod dumbly back.

“Doctor Maiyo is the head of pediatrics at the hospital,” Steve explains. “She’s Bucky’s boss.”

If Sam’s stomach wasn’t already on the floor, it’d be making it’s way there right now. His world shifts but only slightly, only enough to make him feel like he’s somehow existing on a different plane of reality, one that let’s him observe this one, but never really be a part of it. 

He thinks Steve might be talking to him still but he doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t hear a word anyone says for the rest of the night. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.) Ten points to everyone who saw Nat/Nakia coming. : ) 
> 
> 2.) As if I'd ever write one of my children cheating! I could never.
> 
> 3.) Next chapter: the wedding!
> 
> 4.) Tumblr: [bisexualbcky.](http://bisexualbcky.tumblr.com/) Still using #attpmct for this fic.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEDDING TIME! But first a few things:
> 
> 1.) Somebody asked me about fancasts for the original characters so if that's something you too might be interested in, you can find that [here.](http://bisexualbcky.tumblr.com/post/147860284027/so-this-is-maybe-a-weird-question-but-do-you-have)
> 
> 2.) Their suits. Unfortunately neither of them have worn anything that I liked enough for this so I had to go shopping on their behalf. You can see what I picked out for them [here.](http://bisexualbcky.tumblr.com/post/147904362582/more-imagine-this-man-but-in-this-suit-imagine)
> 
> 3.) Warnings: PTSD, nightmares, etc. Nothing worse than what's already come up.
> 
> 4.) This is not important but I want to tell you anyway: I was going to have Rhodey come to the wedding but I just keep thinking about how D O N E he was with Steve in Civil War and how it had nothing to do with the accords and I can't stop laughing about it. Like Rhodey was really ready to throw down with Cap and the accords was just his excuse. He’s not coming to the wedding unless it’s to fuck some shit up (which would be a hilarious outtake i’m just saying).
> 
> 5.) And on that note, the reason nobody else is really there is because I'm lazy and didn't feel like writing it in. Plus, I feel like it has nothing to do with the story so it would just shift the focus too much. But everyone who isn't there (Thor, Wanda, Fury, Sharon, Bruce, etc) all send their best wishes.
> 
> 6.) E N J O Y

**Present Day (June 16, 2021)**

He sees the black sedan coming from a mile away. There’s plenty of time for him to swerve, for him to turn the wheel and veer out of the way, for him to do anything at all to avoid the collision. He feels like he’s moving underwater, like he’s putting all of his energy into steering but he can’t make it happen in time. He’s not fast enough.

The headlights are getting closer and closer, illuminating more and more of the world around him, but there’s nothing there. Nothing but him and his fate. He makes one final attempt to avoid what he already knows he can’t, and suddenly he’s watching it from the sidelines. The army-green truck slams straight into the helpless four-door and that’s it. There’s nothing left for him to do.

He tries anyway, running straight for the wreckage but he’s not getting any closer. No matter how hard he pushes, he can’t get close enough.

There’s a scream from behind him. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off the smoking black car, afraid if he does it’ll disappear, but he has to. He can’t leave a fallen soldier behind.

He turns around just in time to see Trevor fall to his knees, hands clasped to the hole blown through his stomach, trying to hold in some of the blood. It’s not working.

He’s torn between running back for Trevor and running forward to his parents. He has to make a decision. He can’t help them both. Somebody’s going to die and he can’t do anything about it. He has to make a decision right now, time is running out, he has to do this.

_Make a decision, Sam._

_You have to save somebody._

_Save somebody, Sam._

He wakes up with a gasp and immediately flings his arm out, reaching for his phone. He needs to talk to his sister, needs to hear her voice and know that everything is okay.

The phone in his hand says it’s eight-twenty in the morning. He does the math in his head. Seven hour time difference means it’s one-twenty in New York. It’s too late. He can’t call. She’d answer and she’d be understanding but it wouldn’t be fair. She’s his little sister and she has a baby and a life of her own. She shouldn’t have to lose precious moments of sleep just because he has a bad night.

He pulls his knees up toward his chest and tucks his head in between them, rocking back and forth slightly. Mentally, he goes over a checklist.

He’s in Wakanda.

He’s at the palace.

He’s fine.

His parents are dead.

They’ve been dead for a long time.

There’s nothing he could’ve done.

His sister’s in New York.

She’s at home sleeping.

She’s fine.

He takes a deep breath but there’s still something prickling at his edges.

Trevor.

He’s a new addition to the nightmare but the problem’s the same.

He’s in New York.

He’s fine.

Except Sam doesn’t know if that’s true and there’s not really anything he can do to find out.

He needs to talk to someone, needs to hear someone’s voice. He considers just calling his sister anyway but can’t bring himself to go through with it. Instead, he gets up and pulls on some pants, heading out for Nat’s room. There’s a good chance she won’t be there - what with her having a secret torrid love affair and all - but at least this gives him something to do.

She’s only a few doors down so it’s not like it gives him that much to do, but something is better than nothing. He considers just walking in, same as she’s been doing, but she’s at least been bringing coffee and right now he’s empty-handed so he knocks.

Fifteen seconds later she opens the door, surprise at finding him there written all over her face.

“What is it?” she asks. She sounds concerned, like the only reason he could possibly be coming to her is if something’s wrong.

Technically, she’s right. He tries not to let that make him feel like a terrible friend. Fortunately, he’s got a lot of other crap on his mind - a lot of crap he’s doing his best not to think about - so that problem is at the bottom of the list.

“Coffee?” he asks, not sure how to explain that the reason he’s here is because he just needed to hear another human being’s voice, and to know that she’s alive and well. She’d probably understand but he doesn’t want to talk about it anyway.

“I don’t have any,” she says, brows furrowed.

“So why don’t we go get some?”

She looks behind her, back into the room, and _oh_ there’s probably a very specific member of the Dora Milaje in there, and Nat doesn’t want him to know.

This delights him.

“Unless you’re too busy,” he says, “at eight-thirty in the morning. While on vacation.”

She gives him another look like she thinks he’s crazy. “I just need to change,” she says, then closes the door.

_Change_. Sure. He crosses his arms and smirks to himself.

“Good morning, Sam.”

He turns around just as Nakia walks past, fully put together and definitely not sneaking around in Natasha’s room.

Dammit. He really thought he’d finally caught them.

Nat comes back out dressed and says, “Gibsons?”

He nods and they head out.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?” Natasha asks as they sit down with their coffee.

Sam slings his arm over the back of the chair next to him. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”

She gives him The Look but there’s more pity in it than anything. “Is it about last night?”

He was really hoping she wasn’t going to ask about that. Ever. He is so far from processing the events of the night before that they might as well have happened to a completely different person. Two images flash through his mind on repeat: the broken look on Bucky’s face when he said _you never came back_ and the weight of Dr. Maiyo’s hand in his as she told him she’d heard so much about him.

At least now he knows with some degree of certainty that Bucky never cheated on him. Deep down, Sam thinks he maybe always knew that. But that’s the problem. He knew that wasn’t who Bucky was and he let it eat away at him anyway. Because at that point did it really even matter? Their relationship ended without Sam ever once bringing it up. He didn’t have to. They were already done. Bucky may not have been lying about where he was or what he was doing but he still checked out. He still let Sam go. He didn’t… he didn’t do _anything_. At all. He just let Sam go and never bothered him again.

Sam wasn’t even worth a text message to him.

That’s maybe the part that hurts the most. Bucky stood there last night, looking at Sam like _he_ was the one who got hurt, but where was that pain two years ago? Where was that pain when Sam was lying alone in bed, trying to hold back his tears? Where was that pain when he _let_ Sam go and never once asked him to come back?

This isn’t something that happened _to_ Bucky. This is something Bucky moved out of the way for and let roll right by him.

But still. The look on his face and the way he could barely keep his voice from breaking - the way he struggled to control his emotions at all - Sam would do anything to make it go away. He hates Bucky for everything they’ve done to each other, but he’d still stop the world from spinning if it meant Bucky would just smile.

He’d give anything to be able to just not care.

But he has no interest in saying any of this out loud to anyone ever so he says, “I had a dream about this kid from the high school. He was dying and I couldn’t save him.”

It’s not exactly the truth but it’s not a lie either. Plus it really is the reason he went to find Nat in the first place.

“Sounds more like a nightmare,” she says.

He takes a sip of his coffee. “It is what it is.”

“The meetings help though, right?” she asks. She’s talking about the VA.

He nods. They do help. He still feels like he hasn’t gotten a real night of sleep in years but they do help.

 

 

* * *

 

**August 2019**

Sam startles himself awake and immediately reaches behind him for Bucky but there’s no one there. He’s grabbing at air. He turns over and sees the empty space where Bucky should be. He looks at the clock: three-oh-seven.

It’s too late for Bucky to still be up. He’s got to start getting more sleep or he’s going to make himself sick.

Selfishly, Sam wants him there because he sleeps a thousand times better with Bucky’s arms around him; and when he is startled awake by a nightmare, all he has to do is turn over and Bucky’s right there, alive and tangible. Sam doesn’t even have to wake him up anymore to hear his voice. The sound of Bucky breathing next to him is enough to ground him now.

Tonight, however, Sam’s covered in sweat and his hands are shaking. And Bucky’s not there.

He pulls himself out of bed and pads out to the kitchen, not even bothering to put pants on. Bucky’s bent over an open book and there are at least three other ones spread out on the table. He’s got his earbuds in so Sam makes it a point to stomp on the ground as he walks up, alerting Bucky to his presence.

Bucky turns around as he slips one of the earbuds out. He looks exhausted. “Hey,” he says, and when Sam gets closer, “What’s wrong?”

Sam doesn’t say anything but Bucky pushes his chair back and pulls Sam into his lap anyway and Sam goes willingly. He feels better already, just feeling Bucky against his skin. He feels calmed, like it’s okay to believe that everything is alright now that Bucky’s got him.

“I love you,” Bucky whispers against Sam’s neck and Sam says, “Come to bed.”

Bucky tightens his arms around Sam. “I can’t yet,” he says and Sam makes an unintelligible sound of frustration. He doesn’t want to go back to bed alone.

He looks at the notes spread out over the table. They’re color-coded and tabbed and there’s a stack of notecards off to the side. Bucky’s the most organized student Sam’s ever seen. If he wasn’t so tired, so grumpy, he’d find it endearing. Right now he just wants to swipe it all off the table and make Bucky come back to bed with him.

“Stay here,” Bucky says, running his hand up and down Sam’s back, right over the bumps of his spine. “I’m almost done.”

Sam considers this. He would like to just stay in Bucky’s arms all night but he has to be up early for work and he’s probably more of a hinderance than anything.

“Just come to bed when you’re finished,” Sam says and stands up. He leaves Bucky working at the table and crawls back into bed. He falls asleep almost immediately. 

 

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 16, 2021)**

“You look so beautiful I could cry,” Tony says, pressing his palm to his cheek, and takes a step back.

Sam turns around to look in the mirror and yeah he does look good. Tony did a great job picking out this suit. And it fits him perfectly. If he was still worried about making Bucky feel some type of way, this’d be the suit to do it in.

Now, after everything that’s happened the past few days, the suit is the last thing on his mind. It’s clear Bucky already has enough emotions about Sam being here without needing the help of Sam’s ass perfectly accentuated by these trousers.

His emotions are a year and a half too late but that’s not really the point.

“Thanks, man,” Sam says and Tony nods. He really looks like he’s about to cry. It’s kind of unsettling. “You okay?”

Tony shakes his head and waves his hand in front of his face, like he can wipe away whatever it is he’s feeling.

Sam is at a complete loss for what to do. He doesn’t even know what’s happening right now.

“It’s just love,” Tony says and Sam looks around the room, hoping Pepper is somewhere nearby so she can either translate what’s happening or just take it off his hands completely. No such luck.

“Steve and T’Challa,” Tony says. “You and Barnes.”

That snaps Sam right back into the situation. “What?”

“Oh please,” Tony says. “I saw the way you two were looking at each other last night.”

“You mean when we were ready to tear each other apart?” Sam asks, incredulous. What is Tony even talking about?

“You don’t-” Tony starts, then stops. He picks up the bottle of champagne that’s been sitting in an ice bucket since before they came into the room. “You don’t fight like that with someone you don’t love.”

It’s the most ridiculous thing Sam’s ever heard. “Love isn’t supposed to be hard.”

“Bullshit,” Tony says. He puts the champagne back in the ice bucket, untouched. “You fight for the things you love.”

“Not at the expense of your own happiness, you don’t,” Sam argues.

“Are you happy?” Tony asks.

Sam doesn’t have a response. Of course he’s not happy. Of course he wishes things could’ve worked out between him and Bucky. But they didn’t. And he shouldn’t have had to tear himself apart just to make it work. Especially not if Bucky wasn’t willing and ready to do the exact same thing.

There’s no point in fighting for someone who doesn’t want you to fight for them.

“Exactly,” Tony says in response to Sam’s silence, like he’s just won something. He hasn’t but Sam doesn’t care enough to argue.

“I’m not an idiot,” Tony says, quietly. “I’m not unreasonable. I know… I know that what he did to my parents is a product of what happened to him and it’s unfair. But he still did it and I hate him for it.”

Sam is not sure where he’s going with this so he stays quiet, waits for Tony to make his point.

“But I can see that he’s your Pepper,” Tony finishes, like that’s all there is. And maybe for him it is.

Sam wishes it really were that simple.

“Nice suit,” Natasha says, walking into the room, breaking up the weird tension floating around. “You boys ready?”

“I think we’re missing a person,” Tony says.

“Pepper’s with Maria,” Nat says and they head out. It’s a beautiful day. The sun’s just about to set but it’s still shining and there’s a light breeze blowing, just enough to keep them from drowning in the heat. It’s like mother nature is cooperating just to make this day perfect.

The gardens are set up pretty much like every wedding Sam’s ever been to. There are two sections of white chairs, split down the middle to create an aisle that leads up to one focal point. Sam wonders if this is the kind of wedding T’Challa always wanted or if he’s just indulging Steve’s inner-American. Maybe they’re saving all the Wakandan traditions for the royal celebration in a couple of days.

Sam takes his seat at the front with everyone else. Nat, Tony, Pepper, Maria - they’re all Steve’s little family. They’re missing a few who couldn’t make it but it’s still nice. He still feels a sense of camaraderie and familiarity. They’ve been through more than enough together to be considered family at this point. They’ve fought each other and they’ve fought the world and they’re all still here. The wedding hasn’t even started and Sam’s already getting emotional. He can’t help it. He loves these people and he’s happy to have them in his life.

He’s doing his best to revel in that feeling, to keep himself from thinking about the moment he knows is coming. Bucky’s going to be standing up there in front of him any minute now and Sam knows that no matter what he does, he’s not going to be ready for it. The best thing to do is to just pretend like it’s not going to happen.

So he looks down at his feet, tries to count the blades of grass, asks Nat where she got her shoes, eavesdrops on Maria telling Pepper about the guy she met on the plane; and by the time the music starts and he lifts his head to see what’s going on, he’s blindsided by Bucky already standing up there, right in front of him, easy smile pasted across his face as he looks down the aisle.

Sam doesn’t have much time to feel anything about it as he turns his head with everyone else to see T’Challa and Steve walking down the aisle together, holding hands, and Sam has to laugh at that. He’d expect nothing less from the two of them.

They both look so happy, so carefree. They’re not nervous at all. They’re in love and Sam can’t help it- he leans over and whispers, “Fifty bucks says Steve starts crying the second T’Challa opens his mouth.”

“One-hundred,” Nat counters.

“Deal.”

At the end of the aisle, Steve takes his place next to Bucky and T’Challa takes his next to Nakia. The officiator welcomes everyone and begins his opening comments about love and how great it is to find someone to make a life with. It’s the usual cheesy bullshit that’s said at all weddings but Sam doesn’t mind. He’s mostly using all his willpower to force tears from Steve’s eyes. He could use that money.

“And now the vows,” the officiator says.

Steve begins to speak and two sentences in a tear falls from T’Challa’s eye. Nat clears her throat quietly and Sam whispers, “Dammit.”

Without even pausing, Steve reaches up and wipes the tear away and, impossibly, T’Challa’s face lights up with even more love.

Sam can’t help it, his eyes go directly to Bucky.

Bucky has his hands clasped behind his back and he’s looking at the ground. There’s the ghost of a smile on his face and, like always, he’s beautiful. The lighter color of his suit compliments his skin tone, making him look soft, almost delicate. Sam can’t help but feel fondness swelling in his chest.

Despite everything, he still loves this person.

He can’t look at him anymore or he’s not going to make it through this ceremony.

He refocuses his attention just in time to see T’Challa put a ring on Steve’s finger. The officiator makes a few final comments, then announces their union. There’s a kiss and the guests cheer.

Sam’s never seen Steve smile like that.

He only feels a slight twinge at the fact that Bucky hasn’t looked at him once.

Before making it to the reception he’s pulled to the side for what Steve calls “family photos.”

He’s torn between the overwhelming sense of love and solidarity he feels from being with this makeshift family and the pain he feels deep in his bones at being so close to Bucky and pretending like it doesn’t matter that Bucky still hasn’t acknowledged his presence.

Posing for a picture with all of them, he somehow gets squeezed in right next to Bucky, who spares him a brief glance before looking at the camera. The photographer tells them all to squeeze in tighter and he feels Bucky’s hand settle on his lower back. There’s no intimacy to it; it’s exactly what Sam’s been doing to everyone else while taking these pictures, but he still feels it burn a hole in his skin.

And just like that, it’s over. They’re being ushered over to the tents for the reception while the wedding party finishes taking photos. Inside, the roof of the tents are lined with hundreds of little glowing orbs, mimicking the night sky. The sun’s still setting but once it goes down, the tents will look like a little midnight paradise. It’s stunning and the perfect compromise between Steve’s insistence that the reception take place outdoors and the regality befitting a king.

Sam and the rest of them find their way to the table marked with their place cards, and it’s not long before the wedding party is introduced. When Steve and T’Challa come in they go directly to the center of the dance floor for their first dance and some song that Sam faintly recognizes begins to play. It looks like they took dancing lessons. Or maybe they both already knew how to dance. Sam has no idea. He’s not really sure when Steve would’ve learned but he wouldn’t be surprised. Bucky knows how to dance so it only makes sense that Steve would too. T’Challa’s a king so he probably had to learn growing up. Royal celebrations and what not.

They just look so light on their feet. Maybe it’s the smiles on their faces and the way they move so easily together. There’s an obvious intimacy there, an unspoken trust. Neither of them look anywhere else, not even for a second. They’re too wrapped up in each other. Sam can tell that they’re speaking quietly to each other, making each other laugh. He can’t imagine what they’d even be saying right now but it’s cute anyway. They’re like a couple of kids on a first date, minus the nerves. He wonders if they’ll still look at each other like that when they’re old and gray. He hopes so.

When the song ends, they take their place at the head of the tent, on display for everyone and Sam thinks about what a weird custom that is. He’s never understood it. If he was getting married, he’d want to enjoy his wedding, not sit like an exhibit in a museum for everyone to stare at and comment on.

Not that he’s anywhere near having to worry about it. 

Dinner’s served not long after and the food’s great, of course. Sam tries to revel in the spirit of the occasion but he can’t help feeling like something’s missing. It’s like there’s an empty chair next to him and he’s just waiting for someone to come and fill it. Someone who’s never going to show-up.

When music for the guests to dance to starts playing, Sam makes his way over to the bar. He wants to enjoy at least some of the night and he’s accepted that that’s not going to happen sober.

“Whiskey sour,” he says and preemptively slips a bill in the tip jar, hoping that’ll sway the bartender into making it strong.

“Make that two,” a voice says from next to him. He looks over to see Dr. Maiyo standing there, putting a bill of her own into the jar. “Sam Wilson,” she says with a nod and a smile.

“Doctor Maiyo,” he greets her. He hopes it at least comes out polite.

Her smile doesn’t waiver, so it can’t be that bad. “It’s weird being back here, right?” she says. “Everything’s the same but not really.”

It’s actually kind of the perfect description of how he feels. She’s nice and he hates that some part of him still resents her. Some part of him is jealous of her.

The bartender hands them their drinks and she gives him one last smile. “It was nice seeing you again.”

Sam’s left standing there wondering when he became such an asshole. He barely said a single word to her and she just stood there smiling, being the nicest person he’s ever met. She didn’t even do anything to him. She’s probably never done a single terrible thing in her life, and yet, the strongest emotion swirling around inside him is resentment.

“Good to know your social skills have improved,” Bucky says from behind him and Sam nearly spills his drink all over himself.

The bartender hands Bucky a glass of what Sam can only assume is Asgardian liquor, which he accepts with a grateful smile, before walking away. Sam doesn’t even have a chance to say something back. It’s somehow worse than that first night in the bar where they pretended to be okay. This coldness Sam feels emanating off of Bucky is suffocating.

Steve stands next to him. “What the hell happened between you two?”

Sam doesn’t even know where to begin answering that. Besides, Steve doesn’t need to hear about their little shouting match from last night. It’s his wedding and he should be enjoying it, not involved in Sam’s relationship drama.

“I told myself I’d never ask,” Steve says. “I know it’s none of my business but I gotta know what happened in New York.”

Sam’s head snaps up to look at Steve. “New York?”

“When Bucky left to go see you I just figured you’d be coming back together. But then he showed up alone and said you weren’t coming back and I-,” Steve shrugs. “I just never understood.”

There’s a lump in Sam’s throat making it impossible for him to answer. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t have any words anyway. He has no idea what Steve’s talking about but if he’s saying what Sam thinks he is: Bucky did come to New York. But it’s impossible. Bucky’s a fugitive in basically every country but Wakanda. He can’t step foot on American soil. It’s why Sam went without him in the first place.

But if it’s true, if Bucky did find a way to make it happen, then… then Sam doesn’t know. His mind is spinning with a million possibilities: Bucky coming to New York to surprise Sam for Christmas. Bucky coming to New York just because he missed Sam. Bucky being in the same city as him when he ended their relationship.

None of it makes sense though. Because Sam never saw Bucky in New York. Why would he travel over seven-thousand miles just to turn around and go back home without saying anything?

“Tonight’s about you,” Sam says because he doesn’t know what else to do. He needs to think about something else. He needs to hear something other than his heart pounding in his chest.

Steve smiles. “I’m married,” he says, like it’s the most ridiculous thing anyone’s ever said.

“To a king,” Sam points out.

Steve laughs. “To a king.”

“You have your own country now.”

Steve elbows him. “I do not.”

Sam laughs but it sounds hollow even to him. Steve gets pulled away by Nakia for some groom thing or another and Sam goes back to his table.

He tries to participate in the conversation but he can’t help it- the only thing holding his attention right now is Bucky. Bucky sitting at a table with Dr. Maiyo and a bunch of other people Sam can only assume are also from the hospital. He recognizes a younger guy that Bucky went to school with. They probably graduated together and now both work in the hospital.

It doesn’t matter. Sam doesn’t care about him. He cares about the guy in the light gray suit sitting a few seats over from him; and Sam’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the way his smile doesn’t really reach his eyes. Bucky’s going through the motions but after every laugh his gaze falls down to the empty space on the table right in front of him, and his lips melt into a straight line- not a frown but nowhere near a genuine smile. His drink is sitting completely untouched on the table and Sam has got to know what he was doing in New York.

The familiar notes of a dreamy melody begin to float through the air and Sam has to catch his breath. Bucky’s eyes snap up to his just as Etta James’ voice begins to fill the room and Sam can’t breathe. There was a time Sam used to imagine dancing to this song with Bucky at their wedding and now he might as well be sitting half a world away from him. But Bucky’s eyes are still on him and there’s no way he’s not thinking about the exact same thing Sam is. There’s no way Bucky’s not remembering the first night they spent in the home they made together, candles dancing around sort of like the glowing lights suspended here in the tent, boxes scattered everywhere.

It feels like a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. Bucky’s so close but he’s still so far. There’s a million miles between them but they’re still looking at each other. They’re still stuck in a memory only they share. They’re still living in their own world, if only for a moment.

The music cuts out halfway through the song and Bucky’s gaze shifts to the stage where somebody is speaking and Sam desperately wants Bucky’s eyes back on him.

But he’s standing up and walking to the stage now, accepting a microphone and suddenly he’s every bit the charismatic soldier Sam’s seen in old war clips. He opens his mouth and his voice is steady and sure as he delivers his Best Man speech- pausing at all the right places and making the guests laugh as he talks about Steve’s first date. He leaves out all the complicated stuff - the battles they’ve fought and the time they lost and the things that lead them to T’Challa and Wakanda in the first place - but the gravity of their friendship and what it means to him is still apparent. He’s damn good at public speaking for someone who’s been hiding from the world for so long.

When he’s done, he hands the microphone off to Nakia. Sam doesn’t see where he goes after that. He doesn’t see him at all for the rest of the night.

Sam spends the rest of the reception getting roped into dancing and he laughs and he does his best to enjoy the celebration and bask in the company of the people he loves most in the world but his mind is a million miles away. It’s back in New York, standing outside that hospital building, phone pressed tightly in his hand, tears hitting the concrete beneath his feet, oxygen escaping from his lungs. It’s back in New York, Christmas morning, his newborn niece sleeping softly in his arms, while he does his best not to feel the crushing weight of loneliness. It’s back in New York, and every single day Sam spent there, unaware that Bucky was walking on the same ground that he was.

When Steve and T’Challa finally make their exit, Sam can’t take it anymore. He can’t find any reason to stay. He starts walking, and he walks, and he walks, and he walks, and he doesn’t even realize where he’s going until he gets there. He’s staring at a gray door and he has no idea if Bucky still lives here or if he even went home but it doesn’t matter. Sam’s here and he’s pressing the doorbell and it feels like he might have left his stomach a mile or so back but he doesn’t care. He just stands there and waits for the gray door to open.

 

 

* * *

 

**January 1, 2020**

It’s been nine days. A part of Sam didn’t believe it was really over. He remembers making the call but even now it feels like a hazy dream. He never really thought it would come to this. Steve’s been calling him for the past few days. He even got a couple texts from T’Challa and one from Nakia. He hasn’t responded to any of them. He’s not ready to talk about it and there’s not really anything to say anyway. Him and Bucky are over and he’s not going back to Wakanda. His life there is over. 

His phone vibrates with an incoming message and he wants to throw it across the room - he doesn’t want to talk - but he opens it anyway. It’s from Steve.

>>Call me when you’re ready. We miss you. Happy New Year.

It’s nice and he appreciates it but he’s pretty sure he’s never going to be ready to make that call.

 

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 16, 2021)**

The door opens and it’s Bucky on the other side. He’s not wearing his jacket anymore and his tie’s undone but other than that he hasn’t changed. He’s looking at Sam with an indecipherable expression but whatever it is his face is saying, it feels like it’s ripping Sam apart from the inside. He doesn’t even know why he came here. He has no idea what he’s doing but nobody’s going to walk away this time. There’s too much on the line, too much history between them, too much whirling around and in between them even now.

He opens his mouth, not sure what he’s even going to say, and he forces words to come out. “You came to New York.”

Bucky’s chest rises visibly and Sam takes that as confirmation.

“What are you doing here, Sam?” he asks. His voice is low but it drowns out every other sound for miles.

“Don’t call me that,” Sam says and takes a step forward.

There’s a moment where Bucky doesn’t react at all and it feels like it stretches on forever. Sam swears empires could rise and fall in the span of this moment. He feels his pulse speed up as his heart hammers in his chest, waiting to see what Bucky’s going to do - if he’s going to close the door in Sam’s face or if he’s going to make some snarky comment in return. Sam watches him swallow, _feels_ it in his own throat and the silence is killing him, he can’t take it, needs something to happen, and then Bucky’s moving.

One hand goes straight to Sam’s hip, the other to his jaw, and then Bucky’s lips are on his and Sam is so overwhelmed with how _right_ it feels that he has to fist his hands in Bucky’s shirt just to keep himself upright. Bucky’s hand slips around to the curve of Sam’s back and he pulls Sam in tight against him and it’s the best thing Sam’s felt in too long. He sighs against Bucky’s mouth and Bucky deepens the kiss, pulling Sam inside and the door closed behind him.

Every nerve in Sam’s body is tingling. Bucky’s tongue is sliding against his and the solid wood of the door is against his back and he’s not sure how he’s even standing. He pushes his hand up Bucky’s chest, around his neck and right to the base of his skull and pulls, just enough for Bucky’s jaw to fall open, panting against Sam’s mouth.

Bucky opens his eyes but he doesn’t pull back, just looks back at Sam, breath coming in hard. He moves his hands up Sam’s chest to push the jacket off his shoulders. As soon as it hits the floor, he takes a step back, pulling Sam with him. They keep moving in that direction, undoing buttons and tugging clothes off, dragging their mouths together as much as possible, until they make it to the bed.

It’s comfortingly familiar and breathtakingly new all at the same time; and when Bucky positions himself in between Sam’s legs, hovering just over him, Sam realizes it’s not enough. He needs more, needs to be closer to Bucky. He grabs Bucky’s hand from where it’s moving between them and guides it down, further back.

Bucky looks at him without moving- a silent question, making sure this is what Sam really wants.

And Sam does. He flings his hand out, pulling open the drawer next to the bed where there’s always been a bottle of lube and hands it to Bucky.

The stretch is unreal. It’s been a long time since Sam’s done this but it feels good, he’s missed it, and Bucky’s so good at making sure he’s taken care of. He keeps his lips on Sam - on his mouth, on his neck, even his collarbone, all the while murmuring about how good Sam’s doing and when he lets a _baby_ slip out with three fingers in, that’s it. Sam needs Bucky inside him. He says, “I’m ready” but it sounds more like _please_. 

Bucky pulls his fingers out, then pauses. “I don’t have a condom,” he says and Sam only lets the significance of that weigh him down for a second before saying, “I don’t care,” and pulling Bucky in for a kiss. Bucky makes a soft whining sound against Sam’s mouth and Sam can’t take it. He reaches down, trying to guide Bucky in, but Bucky pulls back. For a split second, Sam thinks Bucky’s going to stop this, but all he does is grab the bottle of lube to slick himself up, before lining up with Sam.

He looks at Sam and Sam nods. Bucky pushes in slowly, so achingly slow it’s almost worse than the stretch. By the time he bottoms out, they’re both sweaty and panting and it’s the best Sam’s felt in months. Bucky runs his hand along the underside of Sam’s thigh before he starts moving his hips and even that feels so good Sam can’t help the guttural noise that escapes the back of his throat.

When Bucky does start moving, it’s small. He circles his hips slightly without actually pulling out until Sam starts moving with him, pushing back against his movements; and then Bucky pulls out just enough for Sam to immediately pull him back in by the ass, wanting him as deep in him as possible.

Bucky huffs out a breath of laughter but it quickly turns into a groan as Sam moves his hands up his back just to drag his nails back down. Bucky shifts, moving his knees up higher on the bed, giving him better leverage and a different angle and when he pulls his hips back and pushes back in Sam sees stars. His legs are shaking and his whole body’s on fire.

Bucky says, “It’s okay, you can come,” and snaps his hips again. White hot pleasure bursts through Sam’s body, starting low in his stomach and pulsing out through the rest of him. Bucky does it again and again and again and just when Sam doesn’t think he can take anymore, he feels Bucky spilling inside of him.

His lips are on Bucky’s, hands clutching at the muscles in his back, holding him close, but it’s not necessary. Bucky’s not moving away. He kisses Sam back until their lips are barely moving, just breathing together, then pulls out and lies down on his side next to Sam, pulling him in against his chest.

Distantly Sam thinks he should probably wipe himself off and he knows he’s going to be sore in the morning but he can’t find it in him to care. His eyes are already falling shut.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Use a condom! Safe sex is cool sex! Don’t be stupid like Sam and Bucky! 
> 
> And, now that they’re not walking away from each other, I guess they’ve gotta start talking…


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know anymore.

**Present Day (June 17, 2021)**

There is an obnoxiously loud beeping and Sam is feeling murderous. Why would that sound ever need to exist in any situation, let alone now, in the dark, where he was just sleeping so peacefully?

There’s movement behind him and suddenly he feels cold air against the bare skin of his back, but the beeping, thankfully, stops. He opens his eyes. The bright red numbers on the clock next to the bed say it’s six-twelve and he groans. It’s too early to be awake. It’s still dark outside.

Instinctively, he reaches behind him and pulls at Bucky’s thigh until he moves back up against him.

Bucky kisses his shoulder. “I have to go to work,” he whispers and it sounds like an apology.

Sam makes an unintelligible sound to express his discontent at that. He’s warm and so comfortable and everything is so nice now that the beeping’s stopped. He doesn’t want Bucky to go.

“Go back to sleep,” Bucky says and Sam pulls his arm around him and does. 

The next time he wakes up, there’s sun pouring in through the blinds, and his first thought is that they really need to invest in some curtains before he remembers there is no _they_. Sam doesn’t live here anymore. This is not his bed and he’s not in his bedroom and the window fixtures are none of his business.

It’s a sobering thought to have first thing in the morning and Sam is flooded with visions of the night before. The ceremony and the reception. The cold moment at the bar and the look on Bucky’s face when he finally did look at Sam. Everything that happened after. It was all real.

Sam showed up at Bucky’s doorstep and now he’s waking up in his bed. He’s alone but that doesn’t mean much. Actually, it probably means a lot- something about Bucky letting Sam stay here and sleep in while he got up and left for work. It feels domestic but Sam doesn’t even want to let himself think it. Regardless of what happened last night, nothing’s changed. They haven’t talked about anything. Sam still has no idea what Bucky was doing in New York. Their relationship still ended.

Nothing’s changed.

Sam is doing his very best to make himself believe it. It’s hard when he rolls over and feels a very sharp reminder of exactly what happened the night before. It hurts but he kind of loves it. It’s like a grounding sensation, one that’s in stark contrast to the way the rest of his body feels- sort of light and tingly and _warm_. It’s amazing what a good orgasm and a night of restful sleep can do.

But still. Nothing’s changed.

He lets himself lie in bed for a little bit longer. He doesn’t have anything he has to be doing and it’s already way too late for him to sneak back into the palace. He might as well enjoy the luxury of getting to sleep in.

When he finally does drag himself up and out of bed, he goes straight for the bathroom. As he’s emptying his bladder he notices that everything is in exactly the same place as it was the last time he was here. The only difference is there’s one less toothbrush. He doesn’t allow himself even a second to feel anything about that before he’s going to the drawer that he knows always houses a package of new toothbrushes. The toothpaste in the cabinet is still the same- the kind with the fresh mint stripe. It’s the kind Sam still uses in New York too and that’s another thing he doesn’t let himself think about.

He considers throwing the toothbrush away when he’s finished but that seems wasteful. He puts it in the holder and can’t help thinking that it looks better that way. It was too empty with just one. There’s supposed be at least two in there. That’s just true of all toothbrush holders. Probably.

Back in the bedroom he stares at his discarded clothing on the floor. He really doesn’t want to put that suit back on. It would be like wearing a flashing neon sign that says I MAKE BAD DECISIONS! Plus, it’s hot; and it wouldn’t be that weird if he borrowed something from Bucky. His clothes are only a little bit too big for Sam. Nobody would even notice and Sam is definitely not thinking about how borrowing something would mean he _has_ to see Bucky again, just to make sure he returns it.

He opens the door to the walk-in closet and it feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Bucky’s clothes are hanging on the left side, just like always, and on the right are all of Sam’s. Like they haven’t even been touched since Sam left. Even his shoes are still in their place on the floor. 

A year and a half ago Sam left all of his possessions behind and they’re still here. Untouched. Like they’ve just been waiting for him to come back and claim them.

Sam has no idea what to do with this information.

He runs his fingers over the fabric of his shirts all lined up. He can’t believe Bucky didn’t throw them out. He pulls a pair of his old jeans off a hanger and then turns around and walks back out. He opens the top right drawer of the dresser and even though he was expecting it, it still hits him like a punch to the gut to see all of his underwear and socks just sitting there. The second drawer down still has his t-shirts and the third his sweats.

He opens up the second drawer on the left and pulls out Bucky’s faded brown shirt from the college. He very pointedly does not think about how stupid it is to take one of Bucky’s shirts when all of his are still right there, ready to be worn.

Once he pulls the shirt over his head, he opens up the drawer next to the bed. The lube from last night’s still sitting on top of the table so it’s not in there but there is a box of condoms. Apparently Bucky did have some. Sam pulls it out and looks at the expiration date. It’s already passed. So okay, it’s definitely the box he bought before he left. He opens it up and counts the condoms inside- eleven. Sam is trying to remember why he bought a 12-pack of condoms just to make a point. He should’ve just stopped at the gas station and bought the smaller box of three.

Or maybe he should’ve talked to his boyfriend before trying to shove his non-existent-infidelity in his face. He throws the box back in the drawer and closes it, then walks around to the other side of the bed and opens up the drawer over there: three tubes of cherry chapstick, a book of crossword puzzles with a pencil wedged in to save the page, one half-empty bottle of lube, a Rubik’s Cube, two hair ties, one dildo that Sam has some pretty fond memories of, and an unopened package of AA batteries. Nothing new there.

This bedroom is like a time warp, or like a museum of the life he used to live. Everything is exactly how he left it. It’s like time ceased to move forward after he left. He has no fucking clue how to feel about any of it, so he walks out of the bedroom to see if maybe there’s some sign of the passage of time in the rest of the apartment. The only real difference is the lack of textbooks spread out on the kitchen and coffee tables. Other than that, it’s exactly the same. Even the one picture that was sitting on the mantle is still there- Sam, Bucky, and Steve standing in front of the door to their first apartment in Wakanda. They didn’t even have furniture yet.

 

 

* * *

 

**June 2016**

“We need a couch,” Steve says. He’s standing just inside the front door, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the empty room.

“We have no money,” Sam points out. They’ve been in Wakanda for less than a month and all of their accounts have been frozen since the day they became fugitives. A couch is the last thing any of them should be worrying about.

Bucky shrugs. “I could steal one.”

Sam’s not sure if he’s kidding or not. It’s kind of unsettling.

“Might as well get a coffee table while you’re at it,” Steve says. Sam thinks it’s a joke but then Bucky nods and goes out the front door like he’s really going to steal them some furniture. 

Sam looks at Steve for some sort of an explanation but he’s already moving into the kitchen. There’s no reason to even go in there. The only thing in there is an empty refrigerator that came with the apartment.

Sam shakes his head and goes to sort out the few belongings he has in his room. He’s never going to understand these geriatric dumbasses.

Three hours later Bucky comes back in a truck loaded with a couch and a coffee table.

Sam understands nothing about anything and he refuses to help carry them inside. He has no idea where this couch came from, if it’s been stolen from some unsuspecting single mother whose only joy in life was to watch Grey’s Anatomy once a week while sitting on it. Sam’s not going to be a part of this.

Though the couch doesn’t exactly look like somebody’s been sitting on it regularly. In fact, it looks brand new. So does the coffee table.

Sam’s trying to find a scratch on the coffee table - just one, or even just a scuff - when the doorbell rings. He knows a total of four people in this entire country and two of them are already standing in this room. There is no reason their doorbell should be ringing at eight o’clock at night.

Bucky opens the front door, pulls his wallet out - which has actual money in it - hands the person on the other side of the door some bills, and then closes the door behind him with two boxes of pizza in hand.

So maybe he didn’t steal the furniture. Maybe he just robbed someone on the way to buying it.

“Deep dish?” Steve asks and Bucky looks at him like he’s stupid, like any person with half a brain would ever order any other kind of pizza. It’s the most ridiculous expression anyone has ever made.

Sam wants to punch him in his face and yell, _“Thin crust is fine! Where’d you get all that fucking money?”_

But he doesn’t. Begrudgingly, he eats the pizza. He’s starving and he’ll repay the universe for whatever Bucky did to get that money tomorrow. Tonight he’s going to eat. And dammit, he’s going to sit on that stupid couch. It’s a nice couch. It’s comfortable and it’s a nice deep gray. It’ll hide stains well.

He’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth when Bucky gets back from returning the truck to wherever or whomever it belongs to. Maybe he’s just dumping it on the side of the road. Sam really has no idea.

Bucky comes up behind him and grabs his toothbrush out of the holder, then squeezes toothpaste out onto the bristles. He leans against the wall behind Sam while he’s brushing, and very obviously drags his eyes down Sam’s back, checking him out. Sam pretends to be annoyed but he can only keep the pretense up for so long before Bucky pushes up off the wall and grabs Sam’s hip with his metal hand, pulling him back against his very obviously hardening dick.

Sam should be grossed out - or at least irritated - by the fact that Bucky’s brushing his teeth right in Sam’s ear, but it’s kind of hard to feel anything other than _want_ when Bucky slides his hand from Sam’s hip down to his pelvis and starts slowly grinding his hips into Sam’s ass.

Sam does his best to pretend he’s completely unaffected by this. He leans forward to spit out his toothpaste and rinse his mouth, but Bucky turns even that into a sexual act- moving his hand to rub a line up Sam’s spine, stopping at his shoulder blades, like he has Sam bent over. He never stops moving his hips.

But this is a game and Sam’s not going to lose. He stands up, makes eye contact with Bucky in the mirror, and says, “Not until you tell me where the fuck you got that couch.”

Bucky pulls the toothbrush out of his mouth to make a _what the hell_ gesture and toothpaste goes flying everywhere.

“Clean that shit up,” Sam says and leaves Bucky standing alone in the bathroom with an erection and a toothpaste stain settling in his shirt.

A few minutes later Bucky slips into Sam’s room and says, “What’s wrong with the couch?”

“What are you doing in here? Steve is right next door,” Sam says from the floor. He doesn’t have a bed frame yet so his mattress is just lying on the ground.

Bucky’s smiling, like he’s amused, like everything’s a joke. Sam hates how endearing it is. It’s only been a few weeks but he already feels like he’d burn cities to the ground for that damn smile.

“Does that mean I’m not getting laid tonight?” Bucky asks and if he were anyone else, he would sound like a douche bag, but because he’s _Bucky_ he sounds like a charming douche bag, a lovable one.

“Oh no, you’re definitely getting fucked tonight,” Sam says, and Bucky’s face says he’s _very_ interested in that turn of events,“right after you tell me where the fuck you got that couch.”

“There’s a furniture store in town,” Bucky says. “I bought it.”

“How?”

Bucky looks very confused and Sam is going to need him to get with the program.

“Money?” he says slowly. “All our accounts are frozen?”

Sam can see the moment it clicks for Bucky.

“Mine aren’t,” he says, with a shrug. “Technically I don’t even exist.”

“If you don’t exist, how do you have money?”

“Hydra’s shell corporation isn’t really spending twenty-thousand dollars a month on pencils,” Bucky says.

“Twenty-thousand dollars a month?” Sam enunciates every single word because shit, with that kind of money Bucky could at least bring him a bouquet of flowers every once in awhile.

“Are you sleeping with me for my money?” Bucky says, grinning, as he kneels down at the edge of the mattress and starts to crawl up it to position himself over Sam.

“You could at least buy a guy dinner.” Sam lets his knees fall open to make room for Bucky.

Bucky pretends to pout. “I bought you pizza.”

“You bought Steve pizza.”

Bucky kisses him. “I’ll buy you anything you want,” he says against Sam’s mouth.

“I don’t think twenty-thousand is enough for the island I’ve been looking at.”

“Hydra has a lot of shell corporations,” Bucky says, getting a hand under Sam’s shirt and dragging his finger tips lightly down Sam’s ribs.

Sam didn’t know it was possible to be this turned on by someone talking about stealing from a terrorist organization. He’s in way too deep. They’re definitely going to find out how thin these walls are tonight. 

 

 

* * *

 

**Present Day(June 17, 2021)**

Sam heads back to the palace around two in the afternoon and for the rest of the day he can’t help but wish he’d stayed in Bucky’s apartment and waited for him to come home. He has no idea how long Bucky’s shifts are or what he would even do all day while he was waiting but it’s not like he’s running himself ragged with activities at the palace either. At least if he’d stayed, he could snoop through some more of Bucky’s stuff.

Of _his_ stuff.

So much of the stuff in that apartment is Sam’s. He wonders if it still technically belongs to him. Probably not. He left it and never asked for it back. There’s probably some law about forfeiting possessions after a certain amount of time has passed.

Not that he necessarily wants any of it back. It’s just stuff and he had no qualms about giving it up in the first place. It was the least of his concerns. Still is really.

Well, the ownership of it is. The fact that it’s all still there is of very big interest to him. He doesn’t want to dwell on it though, which is why he’s in the middle of hunting down Natasha. He needs something to distract him from Bucky and whatever their current situation is. After twenty minutes of no luck locating her, he gives in and calls her phone.

“Where are you?” she says in lieu of a greeting when she answers.

“I’m at the palace,” he says. “Where are you?”

“On my way back there right now. Where have you been all day?” She sounds kind of like a mother who caught her kid sneaking in past curfew.

“At the palace,” he lies.

She calls him on it immediately. “You’re a terrible liar. Stay there.”

When she does get back, she drags him down to the palace gym and into the boxing ring.

“What are we playing for?” he asks.

“The truth,” she says.

He cracks his neck. “The truth about what?”

“You and Barnes,” she says, putting her fists up.

“Okay. What about you and Nakia?” he says and makes his move.

His words throw her so off-guard, that he gets her on her back for only the third time ever.

“What about us?” she gasps out from the floor once she gets her breath back.

He gives her his hand and helps pull her back up. “Nope. You said we were playing for truth. You don’t get to play dumb just because you didn’t think you’d lose.”

She doesn’t make eye contact when she says, “How’d you know?”

Sam shrugs like there’s no way he could possibly not know what his best friend’s been up to. He’s a big fat liar but he’s not the one who’s obligated to the truth right now.

“It’s new,” she says quietly and Sam distinctly remembers Bucky saying something about _years_.

“No it’s not.”

“It is,” she insists.

He gives her his best stern face.

“I’ve never been in a relationship,” she whispers, like she’s ashamed.

“Is that what it is?” he asks. He keeps his voice low even though there’s nobody else around.

“Maybe.”

He puts his hands up. He’s afraid if they don’t get back to sparring, Nat’s going to combust from how uncomfortable this topic is making her.

“So she’s the reason you’re thinking about giving the Avengers up?” Sam asks, just as she moves in to pin him to the ground.

“No,” she says and there’s so much conviction in it that Sam believes her. “Now tell me about Barnes.”

Sam gets back to his feet. “What about him?” 

“Do you still love him?” She’s just standing there looking at him, like she really needs to know the answer, like it’s important.

“I always will,” he says because it’s the truth.

Nat gets him on his back one more time but instead of helping him up, she lies down next to him.

“I think we’re too old to be this stupid,” she says and Sam laughs. She’s probably right.

“It used to be just sex,” she says quietly. “But then I told her I was going to be here for two weeks and she said it wasn’t enough for her anymore and I…”

She trails off, so Sam finishes the thought for her. “You were afraid of losing her.”

“I guess it was never really just sex.” She sounds embarrassed.

“I slept with Bucky last night,” Sam says.

Natasha starts laughing so he does too. At least he’s not suffering in his own stupidity by himself. 

When they’re finished lying down and laughing about how terrible they both are at relationships they go have dinner with Tony, Pepper, and Maria one last time before the three of them fly back to New York. It’s nice and Sam hardly even thinks about whether or not Bucky is disappointed when he gets home and finds Sam’s not there.

 

 

* * *

 

**July 2016**

“I don’t understand why you even bothered getting a job,” Sam says to Bucky as he watches him pull on a pair of faded jeans. It’s a Saturday morning and it’s _early_ and nobody should have to do any work at this hour. Especially not manual labor and definitely not when they don’t even need the money.

Bucky pulls an ugly blue shirt on. He should probably just walk around shirtless. Nobody would mind.

“Gotta pay taxes,” Bucky says.

Sam thinks he’s joking at first but then he remembers that Bucky’s best friend is Steve Rogers so he’s probably serious. Sam is mildly embarrassed for both of them. It’s honorable but it’s definitely embarrassing.

“Why don’t you just shut down the shell corporation?” Sam wonders out loud. “You don’t care about the money.”

“If I shut it down, they’ll just start a new one. As long as I can track this one, I know where they are and what they’re doing.”

He’s right. Sam’s pretty sure Bucky was the one quietly passing along all that Hydra intel that lead them to Rumlow over the past couple of years. He’s not sure how he did it without getting caught himself but his list of highly specialized skills is seemingly infinite so it’s not that surprising.

“Besides, I’m saving up for that island,” Bucky says and leans over the bed to kiss Sam. “I’ll see you later.”

“It better be somewhere tropical.”

Bucky shakes his head but he’s smiling. He kisses Sam once more before he leaves and Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this fluttering sensation he feels in his chest.

 

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 18, 2021)**

“I can’t believe the entire city is going to celebrate for the whole day just because Steve and T’Challa got married,” Sam says. It’s honestly ridiculous. Their marriage literally makes no difference for the people of Wakanda.

“You do realize T’Challa’s the king, right?” Nat says.

“There’s a parade,” Sam says, gesturing to the float driving by, highlighting how ridiculous it all is.

Nat hands him a banana snow cone. “I think it’s nice.”

“I liked you better when you were single,” he says and she rolls her eyes.

They spend the day walking around, catching bits and pieces of the parade and the rest of the festivities. There’s going to be an official ceremony later tonight but for now it’s basically just a festival. There are games and music and dancing and booths. There’s even face painting. Sam’s seen a bunch of mini Black Panthers running around. He doesn’t say it but it’s one of the cutest thing he’s ever seen. One of them is even wearing a little plastic crown.

Early in the evening they run into Aleela over at the park and she insists they hang around for dinner.

“I have to make sure my boy is eating properly,” she says, and Sam pretends to be annoyed, but really he loves it. Plus, he’s had her husband’s cooking before so there’s no real convincing needed.

As soon as he’s sat down at the park table with a plate in front of him, Aleela turns to Nat and - as if he’s not even there - says, “How is he really doing in New York? Is he happy?”

Sam wants to be exasperated by the question but mostly he’s just amused by how cornered Nat looks. She has no idea how to talk to parents. Anyone else would just rattle off some bullshit about how things are fine and maybe his apartment’s a little small but there’s a walk-in closet so it can’t be that bad. Nat, however, looks like a deer in headlights, like she doesn’t want to give away all Sam’s secrets but the only way she knows how to dodge a question is as a spy, when she’s already in control of the conversation, and she sure as hell doesn’t want to lie to this lady she’s just met.

He takes pity on her. “I’m sitting right here, Aleela.”

“Chew with your mouth closed,” she says, dismissively, and leans forward, closer to Nat. “I just want to make sure he’s living his life and not hiding away.”

Natasha swallows. “He’s not hiding.”

It’s the least convincing thing anyone has ever said.

“I’m not hiding,” he presses.

Aleela ignores him. “But he has a good job?”

Nat nods. “He loves his job.”

There’s something about the way she says it, kind of wistful, that would make anybody jump to the same conclusion Aleela does.

“And you don’t love yours?”

Nat considers the question while she chews. Sam can see all the gears spinning in her head. She doesn’t know how to answer it. It’s not a simple one.

“I like my job,” she says once she’s swallowed. “I just don’t know if I believe in it anymore.”

It’s the most honest thing Sam’s ever heard her say to someone who isn’t him, Steve, or Fury.

“What are you going to do about that?” Aleela asks.

“I’m not sure.”

“Well what do you know about information technology and security?” Aleela asks and Sam is instantly terrified of everything the two of them could accomplish if they worked together. Nat would be a perfect fit for that company. She could dismantle dangerous underground organizations and protect the information of the people of Wakanda all while tracking down networks of pedophiles and she could probably do it with one hand tied behind her back. It’s not quite as exciting as being an Avenger but at least she’d know she was working for the good guys.

By the time the sun’s setting and they’re heading back to the center of town for the ceremony, Sam’s not entirely sure Aleela and Nat didn’t just overturn and disband an entire human trafficking ring just by discussing cyber strategies. It makes him realize just how mediocre he truly was at that job. His brain never would have made the connections and came up with the creative solutions Nat’s just did. It never excited him but he can see it written all over her face: she would love that job and she’d be damn good at it. She’s still smiling when they get to the city hall building.

Fortunately for them being friends of the newlywed king and his husband has its perks. They get to watch the ceremony from a balcony, overlooking the thousands of people that have gathered below. 

There’s a handful of other people up there with them, enough that Sam doesn’t even notice the arrival of the very man he’s been trying not to look for all day. Bucky slides in next to him, leaning forward with his elbows on the railing.

“I seem to have lost a shirt,” he says, glancing sideways at Sam.

“Really? I seem to have found all of mine,” Sam says. He hopes Bucky can’t hear how hard his heart has started pounding from their sudden proximity. He knew there was a good chance he’d see him here tonight but he refused to get his hopes up. He hasn’t even heard from Bucky since they spent the night together.

Sam can’t see Bucky’s face very well but he’s pretty sure he’s smirking at Sam’s response.

Sam wants to ask him about it- ask him why he never got rid of all of his stuff but right now is probably not the best time.

“You were gone when I got home,” Bucky says and this time he turns his head to look up at Sam.

“I’m a busy guy,” Sam says. It’s not the truth but it sounds a hell of a lot better than ‘if I stayed in that place without you completely surrounded by the past for one more minute I was going to burst.’

There’s a band set-up on the street below and it starts to play. Bucky straightens up and angles his torso so that he’s half facing Sam, the center of his ribcage grazing Sam’s elbow. He leans in just enough so that Sam will be able to hear him over the noise. “We need to talk.”

That is exactly what Sam wants but old habits die hard. “You gonna tell me about New York?” he asks, just to be difficult.

Bucky looks at him, eyes soft, like his only purpose in life is to catalogue the features of Sam’s face. There’s an intimacy to it that makes Sam’s chest swell. It feels like there’s a balloon expanding right where his heart should be.

“Did you really think I’d just let you go?” Bucky asks and the crowd below begins to cheer, making it impossible to hear anything else.

Sam looks at Bucky and Bucky looks back. Sam wants to be closer, wants to maneuver himself in between Bucky and the railing, get Bucky’s arms bracketing him in. Instead he drags his eyes back to the dais that’s been set up down on the street, where T’Challa and Steve are now standing as the band plays the final notes of a song. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t imagine the way Bucky shifts closer as he leans back down on the railing to watch.

When the music fades out completely, T’Challa begins speaking and the crowd falls silent, hanging onto their King’s every word. They love him and Sam understands why. He’s a great leader and he takes care of his people.

The ceremony begins and Sam listens as some man leads them in traditional Wakandan prayer, followed by a blessing. The whole thing lasts about twenty minutes and then the music starts up again and everyone on the street begins to cheer and dance. There’s so much joy in the celebration and even from all the way up here, Sam can see how happy T’Challa looks to have the support of his people. Even Steve, who isn’t really a fan of being the center of attention like this, is smiling big enough for Sam to see.

As the happy couple makes their way off the dais, Sam feels the metal of Bucky’s hand through the fabric of his shirt as it settles on his lower back.

“Come with me,” Bucky says in Sam’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

There’s no way in hell Sam isn’t going to follow him. He nudges Nat to let her know he’s leaving and she gives him a look that’s somehow both mocking and supportive.

Bucky takes his hand and leads him off the balcony, down the stairs, through the crowd of celebrating people, and onto the sidewalk. They’re walking in the direction of his apartment when out of nowhere Bucky spins on his heel and pulls Sam into a kiss. It’s a simple kiss- just two mouths pressed together, but the way Bucky sighs in relief as soon as their lips meet makes it feel like so much more. Sam can’t help the way he melts into it, the way he wants to chase Bucky’s lips when he pulls back and rests their foreheads together.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I just-”

“Yep,” Sam agrees.

“We need to talk,” Bucky says. He’s still holding Sam against him.

“Yep.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and pulls away but he doesn’t start walking. He’s looking at Sam and there’s a war waging behind his eyes and Sam wants to kiss the frustration off his face but he waits Bucky out. The moment feels significant and he doesn’t want to ruin whatever it is Bucky’s trying to work up to.

“You left for New York on a Friday and then I didn’t hear from you for three days,” Bucky says and apparently they’re going to do this right now, right here in the middle of all these people. Nobody’s paying attention to them and Sam doesn’t actually care if they are anyway. He just wasn’t prepared to have this conversation right _now_.

“I was happy when you finally called,” Bucky says. It comes out more than just a little bitter. “I didn’t even want you to go in the first place.”

“You told me to go,” Sam says, incredulous.

Bucky looks at Sam like they both know that’s not true. Except it is true. Deep down Sam knows that no version of Bucky would have ever asked Sam to give up something important just for him but that doesn’t change the fact that Bucky never asked him to stay. He didn’t even tell him he wanted him to.

“So you came to New York?” Sam asks.

“Yes.” He says it definitively. Conclusively. Like there was no other option. Like there is no scenario in which he wouldn’t follow Sam to the ends of the earth.

It’s overwhelming and Sam has no idea how to even begin to process what any of it means.

“How’d you even get there?” he asks because it’s the only coherent thought he can form.

“Carefully.”

Sam knows what Bucky’s capable of. It’s not that hard to imagine him doing all the things it would take for him to move invisibly through several countries. Mostly it’s hard to imagine Bucky wanting or even willing to do those things. It’s a version of who he used to be that he did everything he could to distance himself from once they got to Wakanda.

“I never saw you,” Sam says. It’s more a prompt than anything.

“I was waiting for you at your sister’s place. The park across the street- it has those fake wooden tables.” Sam knows exactly what he’s talking about. He can picture the tables perfectly.

“I was sitting there when I saw you,” Bucky continues. “You were happy. I hadn’t seen you laugh in months and I couldn’t…”

His voice breaks off and he looks away and Sam wants to scream. He wasn’t happy. He wasn’t happy at all. He was dying inside. The only thing holding him together was his sister and his niece, and still, it was only by a thread.

“I figured if you ever wanted to come back, everything would still be here for you,” Bucky says. He’s still looking at the ground. “But then I got your key in the mail.”

Now he looks back up and Sam can see that his eyes are wet.

“You should’ve told me. You should’ve said something,” Sam says. None of this had to happen. They didn’t have to be standing here having this conversation. He didn’t have to spend the last year and a half miserably trying not to be in love with the man standing in front of him. They could’ve been happy and in love. They could’ve been the ones getting married.

“I couldn’t make you happy,” Bucky says and he sounds so defeated, so shattered, that Sam feels it in his chest; and he’s reminded of all the ways their relationship wasn’t working, all the ways they were already broken.

But if Sam had felt even half of what he’s feeling from Bucky right now, they could’ve fixed it. They could’ve made it work. It would’ve been hard and it definitely wouldn’t have been perfect but at least they would be together. He just needed Bucky to _want_ to make it work. He’s about to say this when a kid, no older than six or seven, comes running up to them.

“Bucky,” the kids says like he just ran into his best friend at the grocery store. He holds up his left arm; it’s covered in a gray cast and there’s a little red star sticker at the top of it that looks suspiciously familiar…

Bucky holds his metal arm up and says, “Hey, pal.”

Then what can only be described as a secret handshake commences and Sam is going to explode with feelings. It’s too much. It’s too cute. It’s too precious. It’s too everything. Sam never thought he’d be one of those people who has an internal meltdown when they see their partner interacting with kids but if there was such a thing as a biological clock, he would feel his ticking right now. His one overwhelming thought in this moment, illogical as it is, is that he wants Bucky to put a baby inside of him right now. It passes quickly but he’s still left with the image of Bucky and _kids_.

It’s so easy to see why Bucky chose pediatrics. He’s so at ease with this kid. It’s actually something Sam used to worry about- how Bucky was going to work with different strangers every single day; he would’ve been a hyper-vigilant wreck. But taking those strangers and making them kids… that’s a different story. Clearly.

By the time the kid’s running back to his parents, the fragility of the moment Bucky and Sam were just having is completely gone. It’s a conversation they’re going to have to finish eventually but for now, Sam’s content to take Bucky’s hand and let him lead him back to his apartment.

“I need to shower,” Bucky says, once they’re inside. It’s a lie. Sam can still smell the soap on him from the last time he showered, which was probably only a few hours ago, but he let’s himself get pulled into the bathroom anyway.

Showering with someone is stupid unless it’s with Bucky Barnes. He lets Sam stand directly under the flow of hot water and massages soap into his skin and kisses him firmly, sliding their tongues together, making soft noises of contentment when Sam glides his hands along his torso.

Eventually Bucky wraps his arms completely around Sam, holding him close, and buries his face in his neck.

“I just wanted you to be happy,” Bucky says and Sam believes him. There’s a lot he still doesn’t understand but he believes that.

When they get out of the shower, Sam pulls on one of Bucky’s shirts and Bucky doesn’t call him on it, so Sam doesn’t say anything about the second toothbrush Bucky left sitting in the holder.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so if you're wondering why there was a celebration for the marriage it's because a traditional white American wedding is obviously not good enough for the King of Wakanda but since Wakanda isn't a real place and googling African wedding traditions (or any specific African country, I've been using Kenya as my basis for everything since wikipedia says Wakanda would be right on the boarder) gets you a lot of shit that is vaguely racist at best (seriously... there was a page about destination African safari weddings), I decided that I would leave the details of the day very fuzzy and just make it a celebration. A fun day that's only good and positive vibes.
> 
> I know this probably seems insignificant but it's really bugging me. I just want to make sure T'Challa gets the ceremony he deserves.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Sam and the Everlasting Day of Opening Up Old Wounds.

**Present Day (June 19, 2021)**

“Do you have to go to work?” Sam asks. He’s lying on his side looking at Bucky. There’s sunlight streaming in through the window and he’s content. Happy, in a cautious way.

Bucky’s holding Sam’s hand against his lips and he’s got one leg tangled in between Sam’s. He looks sleep-soft and Sam wants to stay here in this bed with him forever. It feels safe here.

“Later,” Bucky says, voice still gravely with sleep. He’s rubbing his thumb slowly back and forth against Sam’s wrist.

Sam has no idea what compels him to say it, to break the moment, if it even matters, but he can’t think about the hospital without thinking about _her_ and all the ways he’s unfairly resented her existence for too long now. He needs to say it out loud.

“I saw you with her once.”

Bucky is completely unconcerned by this. “With who?” he asks lazily. His eyes are focused on Sam’s mouth but there’s no heat behind it. He’s just watching.

“Doctor Maiyo.”

Bucky’s thumb doesn’t stop moving but his gaze shifts up to meet Sam’s eyes. There’s a crease between his brows: he doesn’t understand.

“You said you were doing something for school but I saw you at a coffee shop with her,” Sam says. He does his best not to make it sound like an accusation. He’s not sure he succeeds.

Bucky’s thumb stops moving and the crease between his brow deepens. “She was my mentor.”

“So why didn’t you just tell me that?”

Bucky shifts a little. He’s uncomfortable. Sam knows him well enough to know what his discomfort means: he doesn’t want to answer the question and that terrifies Sam. Maybe his resentment hasn’t been for nothing. He feels tension and nerves start to build in his stomach, slowly seeping out to the rest of his body as he waits for Bucky to answer.

When Bucky finally does speak, it’s not what Sam’s expecting at all.

“You didn’t want to know.”

 

 

* * *

 

**September 2019**

Sam’s sitting on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, and he’s got a movie playing. There was a time he would’ve killed to get to just veg out and watch a movie all by himself but lately he feels like it’s all he’s been doing. Steve invited him over to the palace for something - Sam wasn’t really paying attention to what - but he wanted to be here when Bucky got home. He has the naive hope that maybe they can veg out together. Or at least Sam can veg out _near_ Bucky while he does whatever it is he has to do for school.

It’s after ten when Bucky does finally come through the door. He drops his backpack before the door’s even closed behind him and goes straight to the couch- falling face first onto it, placing his head in Sam’s lap.

“Hi,” he says. He sounds exhausted and Sam feels bad for him. He runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair and Bucky _mmms_. He really is a damn kitten sometimes.

A sleepy one.

“Go to bed,” Sam tells him. Bucky’s eyes aren’t even open. He really does need to get some rest.

“Too much to do,” Bucky mumbles with his face pressed against Sam’s stomach.

Sam wants to wrap him up in a blanket and carry him to bed, make him sleep. He’d even tuck him in like a child at this point.

“You gotta sleep, babe.” he says.

Bucky sits up. “I sleep,” he says and leans forward to press their lips together.

It’s a chaste kiss and Sam can’t help the disappointment he feels when Bucky pulls away. He wants more but he doesn’t say anything. He knows Bucky doesn’t have time for it right now.

“I signed up for a shift volunteering at the hospital,” Bucky says and Sam hopes he misheard him. Bucky barely has time for the commitments he already has.

“Why would you do that?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound so harsh, so accusatory, but he doesn’t understand what Bucky was even thinking.

Bucky looks taken aback. “It’s good experience.”

“You don’t have time.”

“It’s just once a week.”

That makes it worse. It’s not even a one time thing. It’s a recurring thing.

Sam doesn’t know how to even begin to wrap his head around that. How does Bucky possibly think he’s going to fit volunteering into his already jam-packed schedule? And when is he going to make time for his friends? For his _boyfriend_?

Of course Sam doesn’t say any of that. He feels selfish even thinking it. All he can manage right now is an, “Alright” accompanied by a sigh.

Bucky watches him for a minute, then says, “I love you.”

Sam doesn’t even know what time Bucky finally makes it to bed.

 

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 19, 2021)**

Sam closes the lid on the coffee maker and presses the _Brew_ button with unnecessary force.“How can you think I wouldn’t want to know that you were spending all your time with some woman?”

He’s not even sure why he’s angry.

“A few hours once a week,” Bucky corrects, pulling open one of the cabinets. “And you knew I was there.”

“I didn’t know you were with her,” Sam says. Anger is spilling out of him and he has no idea why. He doesn’t even care that Dr. Maiyo was Bucky’s mentor then or his boss now. He knows there was never anything going on between them. But still, he’s angry and he can’t help it.

“What does it matter who I was with?” Bucky sounds like he’s ready to strangle Sam but he’s not yelling.

“Because you weren’t with me,” Sam shouts and there it is. That’s why he’s angry. It’s not about Dr. Maiyo at all. It’s about the fact that she wasn’t Sam.

He’s ashamed as soon as he says it. He sounds like some jealous and over-bearing nightmare of a partner but it’s not like he was asking Bucky to spend _all_ of his time with him. Just some of it. He just wanted Bucky to _want_ to spend time together.

Sam expects Bucky to yell back, to tell Sam how utterly selfish he sounds, but he doesn’t. He sets two mugs down on the counter and gently closes the cabinet door before turning around to face Sam. 

“You didn’t even want to be with me,” he says.

 

 

* * *

 

**October 2019**

Sam’s already sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee watching the news on his phone when Bucky wakes up. He’s wearing sweats and that stupid shirt from the college that’s already starting to fade and his earbuds are hanging over his shoulders.

“Morning,” he says and bends down to kiss Sam.

“Where are you going?” Sam asks. Bucky’s already got his shoes on.

“For a run,” he says. He’s still leaning down into Sam’s space. “Come with me?”

Sam considers it. He hasn’t been running in weeks. It feels like he hasn’t done anything at all in weeks. But he just feels tired. Running sounds like way too much effort. Just the thought of it is daunting.

Besides, he’d just slow Bucky down. They can hang out when Bucky gets back.

“I’m good,” he says.

Bucky lingers for a couple of seconds longer. “You sure?”

“Yep.”

 

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 19, 2021)**

They’re at a standoff. Sam doesn’t understand how Bucky could possibly think he didn’t want to be with him when that’s the one thing Sam wanted most in the whole world.

Bucky insists Sam was pulling away from him.

“How would you even know?” Sam says. “You were never here.”

It’s kind of a low blow but it’s also the truth. If anyone was pulling away, it was Bucky.

“I was at school,” Bucky says. He’s still not yelling and Sam wishes he would. It’s kind of hard to be mad at someone whose face constantly resembles a kitten that’s afraid of getting kicked.

“That wasn’t the issue,” Sam says. “You were at school for three years before that and we were fine. We still saw each other all the time.”

And there are those sad eyes again. Sam wants to kiss him and punch him all at the same time.

“I know I was busy,” Bucky says. “But it was temporary. It wasn’t always gonna be like that.”

He’s in Sam’s space now and it takes every ounce of strength Sam has not to give in and touch him.

“It was the last year and there was so much work. Practicals had just started and we were getting ready for our internship,” Bucky says. He sounds like he’s begging Sam for something, absolution maybe.

“So why’d you add volunteering to the list?” It’s not really the point and it probably doesn’t make a difference anyway but he needs to know. He needs to know why Bucky chose to make himself busier, to pull away even more.

“Everyone did,” Bucky says. “If I knew…”

His voice breaks off and that’s really Sam’s limit for how much pain he can stand to see Bucky in. He grabs his shirt and pulls. Bucky goes willingly, crowding Sam up against the counter, hands going straight to his hips, like that’s where they were always meant to be.

“I just wanted to be good enough for you,” Bucky says and Sam is desperate to make the pain in his voice go away. He kisses him and Bucky whimpers, so Sam does it again, this time deeper.

It’s not long before their hands are all over each other- grabbing and pulling and holding on for dear life - and when Bucky lifts him up by the thighs to set him on the counter, Sam’s already achingly hard.

“What do you want?” Bucky says, running his hands up and down Sam’s thighs.

Sam’s not sure if he means right now or in general. “You,” he answers.

Bucky seems to approve. He makes a greedy noise and bites Sam’s lip and somehow manages to get Sam’s pants down without Sam having to get up and then he has Sam in his mouth and that position can’t be comfortable - there’s nothing supporting him - but he sounds like he’s enjoying it and Sam is not about to complain because Bucky’s mouth is the best mouth in the world. It’s the only mouth that Sam wants anywhere near him ever again.

He leans back on his hands, trying to get enough leverage to rock his hips in time with what Bucky’s doing, prompting Bucky to get his hands under Sam’s ass, supporting him and encouraging him to fuck up into his mouth. Instinctively Sam’s hand goes straight to Bucky’s hair. There’s significantly less of it than there used to be but still enough to grab and the sound that comes out of Bucky’s throat makes it clear it’s still a sensation he enjoys.

It doesn’t take long for Sam to reach his climax and once Bucky’s swallowed everything down, he straightens up to kiss Sam hungrily, sliding his tongue into his mouth, and the fact that Sam can taste himself has his hand going straight for Bucky’s pants. Bucky moans right into Sam’s mouth and it only takes a few strokes for him to come all over Sam’s hand.

 

 

* * *

 

**October 2019**

Sam’s washing his hands when his phone starts to ring. It’s all the way in the other room and he knows he’s not going to be able to get to it in time so he doesn’t even bother trying. When he does finally make his way over to it, he has a voicemail from Bucky.

_“Hey I’m gonna go to the library for a few hours after work. Call me back. I love you.”_

Sam sighs and deletes it, then tosses his phone on the couch. Looks like another night of watching television by himself.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 19, 2021)**

“Why didn’t you get rid of my stuff?”

They’re on opposite ends of the couch facing one another. If they were kids, they’d be kicking each other. Since they’re technically adults, Sam’s leaning back against the arm rest with his legs stretched out, feet propped up flat against Bucky’s chest. He can smell the apple cinnamon candle on the table behind him, even though it’s not lit.

Bucky’s got his legs crossed and he’s playing with the hem of Sam’s pants. He looks up at Sam with a smirk.

“Should I have held a bonfire and burned all your things in a cleansing ritual? I hear that’s how the kids are doing it these days.”

Sam nudges his chest with his foot. “You kept everything.”

“Not true. I definitely didn’t keep your toothbrush. Or your deodorant. I also remember throwing out some peanut butter.”

Sam nudges him again. “Seriously.”

Bucky pulls at a loose thread, then rips it off so it can’t unravel any further. “Did you get rid of mine?”

When Sam doesn’t answer, Bucky looks at him smugly and says, “I know you took my blue hoodie.”

If Sam’s skin were any lighter, the blush creeping up his cheeks would be painfully obvious. It’s embarrassing enough being a grown man with a stolen article of clothing stuffed deep down into a drawer; it’s a whole other thing when the person from which it was stolen knows about it.

“One hoodie is not an entire closet,” he says, just to pretend like he has no shame. It’s true anyway. But even he knows they’re different situations. Sam made the conscious decision to take that hoodie with him and then find a place to keep it safe. Bucky… well, he just never did anything with the stuff that was already in the place it’d always been.

Two sides of the same coin, maybe.

Bucky’s smile while he searches for more loose threads is more melancholic than anything. “I thought you’d come back. And then you didn’t and your stuff was still here and I just-”

He shrugs like it’ll complete his thought for him.

It’s the first time Sam’s ever felt truly bad about leaving the way he did. He’s always been so caught up in the pain he was feeling, in the way their relationship was falling apart for _him_ , that he never considered how it might be falling apart for Bucky. He sincerely believed Bucky was doing fine all this time - a little hurt maybe, annoyed definitely, but not suffering, not suffocating in the loneliness Sam left behind.

He didn’t realize that’s what he’d left. He thought he’d taken it all with him.

“Sorry about the key,” he says because it’s the only thing he knows how to apologize for. It’s the one thing he knows for sure he fucked up. Even at the time he knew it was a dick move.

Bucky shakes his head and purses his lips. He’s still looking at Sam’s pants. “No return address or nothing.”

Sam rolls his eyes at that. “Like you couldn’t have found me anytime you wanted.”

“Not the point.”

And that’s fair. Sam concedes it. 

“I just wanted you to be happy,” Bucky says. His eyes are still focused on Sam’s pants but his hands have stilled.

“I just wanted to actually spend time with you,” Sam counters.

Now Bucky looks up. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve dropped everything if I knew that’s why you were unhappy. I would’ve quit school. My job. We could’ve gone and lived in a cabin in the woods, just the two of us. You should’ve told me.”

He says it so seriously, so sincerely. He means every word of it and Sam knows that to be true. But it sounds ridiculous. That’s not a sustainable life. It’s something that only happens in movies where the credits get to roll and you never actually see the happily ever after, never see the aftermath of two people centering their entire world’s around each other.

It’s not realistic. No one person is enough to sustain someone else’s happiness. They might’ve been happy at first but they would’ve grown to hate each other, to be miserable.

Sam can see it on Bucky’s face that he knows that too, that he’s always known it, but he would’ve done it anyway, just because Sam asked.

 

 

* * *

 

**September 2019**

It is fucking freezing, way too cold for September. A long sleeve shirt should’ve been more than enough but Sam’s nipples feel like they’re going to fall off.

Out of nowhere, Bucky stops walking and drops Sam’s hand.

Sam’s about to protest but then Bucky pulls his hoodie up over his head and thrusts it at Sam.

“What about you?” Sam asks. The question’s more perfunctory than anything. He’s already pulling the hoodie on. It feels like a load of clean towels fresh out of the dryer has just been dumped on him. Smells like it too. Sam still doesn’t know how Bucky’s clothes always smell like laundry detergent no matter how long he’s been wearing them. His number one theory is that Bucky carries dryer sheets with him everywhere and just rubs them all over himself when Sam’s not looking. It’s not a great theory but it’s the best Sam’s got.

Bucky pulls at one of the strings on the hoodie, evening it out. “Better?”

Sam nods and Bucky wraps an arm around his shoulders as they start walking again.

“How’s your sister?” Bucky asks, letting his hand fall from Sam’s shoulder down to his waist.

Sam thinks about the last picture his sister sent of her belly. “Round.”

“Have they picked out a name yet?”

The sun’s starting to set and it’s getting colder. Bucky’s sweatshirt and the warmth from his body next to Sam’s is helping but the cold is starting creep back in.

“I think they’re gonna wait until the birth,” he says. He doesn’t really have any idea what his sister’s plans are.

“Do you think they’d want to come visit with the baby?”

There’s something about the way he asks it - sort of hopeful, kind of excited like a kid whose parents just told them they can pick out a toy - that makes Sam laugh.

“I didn’t realize you were such a big fan of babies.” He actually has no idea how Bucky feels about babies or kids at all.

Bucky squeezes Sam’s side in retaliation. “Well I don’t know a lot of them.”

“They’re usually pretty small. Cry a lot. There’s a lot of poop.”

Bucky pulls Sam tighter against him. He’s so warm; it’s like he’s a walking space heater.

Sam gives into that warmth and drags Bucky to a stop, moving in to press himself against Bucky’s chest, who automatically wraps his other arm around Sam.

“Why are you so cold?” he asks.

“It’s fucking freezing, man,” Sam says, tucking his arms in between their bodies.

He can feel Bucky laughing at him. He would be irritated if the guy wasn’t the sole source of physical comfort for him at the moment, so instead he tries to snuggle in closer.

“Are you getting sick?” Bucky asks.

“No.”

He hardly ever gets sick. In fact, he’s pretty sure he’s only been sick once since moving to Wakanda and even that was barely anything. Just a runny nose and a sore throat for a few days. Sam’s immune system kicks ass.

“Are you sure?” Bucky leans back and tries to put his hand on Sam’s head to check his temperature.

Sam swats it away. “I’m fine. It’s just really fucking cold out here.”

Bucky looks like he wants to argue that but he doesn’t. “Let’s go home then,” he says.

“Barnes.”

Sam and Bucky both turn their heads to see a younger guy Sam knows he’s met before but can’t remember the name of walking up to them.

“It’s trivia night,” the kid says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the bar behind him. “We convinced the guy running it to make it a special Anatomy and Phys edition so we can study. You should come.”

Bucky glances at Sam. “Thanks but I’m actually about to head home.”

The kid looks at Sam. “You should come too. It’s Sam, right? Come have a drink with us.”

It’s nice. He’s a good kid and Sam likes him but he’s freezing and sitting in a bar drinking with a bunch of nursing students drunkenly talking about science doesn’t exactly sound like fun right now. He just wants to go home. But he doesn’t want Bucky to miss this opportunity to bond or study or whatever it is that they’re actually doing. Besides, Sam kind of just wants to crawl into bed and go to sleep right now. Maybe he is getting sick.

“I’m gonna go home but you should stay,” he says to Bucky.

“I don’t-” Bucky starts to protest but Sam cuts him off.

“It’s fine. Go study. Learn. Be all that you can be.” He tries to make it sound like a joke but the way he’s starting to shiver sort of clips it.

Bucky stares at him, like he’s not sure what to do.

“Seriously, it’s fine,” Sam assures him.

Bucky doesn’t look like he believes Sam at all but he leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. “I love you,” he says, before pulling away.

“I’ll see you at home,” Sam says to him, then tells the kid goodnight.

The walk home alone in the cold feels like the longest walk of Sam’s life. When he finally makes it back to the apartment, he goes straight to the shower and stands in the heat of the water until it starts to run cold, then crawls into bed and pulls the covers up over his head.

The next time he wakes up it’s completely dark but Bucky’s in bed with him, his body completely wrapped around Sam’s, keeping him warm.

Sam feels tired and moody for the next few days but it’s better when Bucky holds him.

 

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 19, 2021)**

“You don’t have to leave,” Bucky says as he ties his shoes. “You can stay.”

“What would I even do here by myself?” Sam asks.

He’s looking at his phone for the first time since last night. There’s a text from Nat.

>>Chance of an unplanned pregnancy is significantly decreased by the use of a condom. Make sure you wrap it up.

Sam shakes his head, both at Nat’s sense of humor (or lack-thereof) and at himself. He definitely hasn’t been being careful with Bucky which is just so stupid. He knows better. He’s clean but he has no idea what Bucky’s been up to while they’ve been apart. One look around the apartment tells him _not much_ but that’s flawed logic. Just because Bucky probably wasn’t bringing anyone home to this apartment that screams _two people live here_ doesn’t mean he wasn’t getting any somewhere else. The thought hurts more than it should. Especially since Sam hasn’t exactly been celibate in their time apart.

“You could lie around naked,” Bucky says, breaking into his thoughts. “Send me pictures.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“You work with children, man.”

“I get breaks.”

“I don’t even have your number,” Sam says, off-hand and immediately feels like an asshole. Probably not the best way to tell someone you tried to delete their entire existence from your life, but Bucky doesn’t say anything about it. He doesn’t even react to it, just picks up his keys and heads to the front door and Sam follows.

Once the door’s closed behind them, right before Bucky locks it, he looks at Sam. “You sure you don’t wanna stay?”

Sam shakes his head. “Gotta go bless the people of the palace with my presence.”

Bucky locks the door. “Let me drive you.”

“I’m not getting in that death box,” Sam says. He’s pretty sure the whole tire flat tire thing is completely resolved at this point but he actually wants to walk back. And he takes great pride in the look of offense on Bucky’s face when Sam insults his car.

“You used to love my car.”

“You used to blow me in your car.”

The way Bucky smirks in response to Sam’s words says that can be arranged again.

But Sam’s pretty sure Bucky’s already late. His shift’s supposed to start at seven and it’s already ten-till.

“Go,” he says.

Bucky pushes forward and brushes their lips together.

“I’ll see you later,” he says and doesn’t pull away until Sam nods in agreement. 

Then he’s walking down to his car and Sam is trying not to have any real emotions about watching him go. Everything’s going to be fine.

He takes his time walking back to the palace. He’s not in any real hurry and the walking helps him start to process all the information he’s learned in the past twenty-four hours. His one overwhelming thought is the idea that maybe Bucky never really did give up on Sam or their relationship at all. Maybe everything they had together is still salvageable.

Just as the sun is starting to set, Sam’s phone vibrates in his pocket. It’s a message from a number he doesn’t have saved but that he’s pretty sure he recognizes.

He opens it up. It’s a picture of the backseat of Bucky’s car with the caption _the loneliest car in the whole world_.

It’s dumb and Sam wishes it didn’t make his heart race.

He texts back

>>you’re not getting any naked pics

Bucky’s response only takes a minute.

>>I can’t believe you don’t wanna sext me.

There’s a sad-face emoji at the end of it. Sam loves him so much.

>>I can’t believe you wanna jerk off in a building full of sick children.

The response is almost immediate.

>>You win.

Sam smiles to himself and types out several different replies but erases them all. Less is more right now. And Bucky’s working. It’s just not the time.

Instead, he saves the number to his contacts. The flutter in his chest stays there the rest of the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incase you somehow missed it: [I'm also on tumblr.](http://bisexualbcky.tumblr.com/)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kylie_jenner_year_of_realizing.gif
> 
> But seriously- everyone has been so amazing and I can't believe we're almost at the end. Ahhhh. 
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://bisexualbcky.tumblr.com/)

**Present Day (June 20, 2021)**

Sam is in love. Fully. Completely. Earth-shatteringly.

He ate dinner last night with a smile on his face, crawled into bed with a smile on his face, fell asleep with a smile on his face, woke up with a smile on his face.

There’s no coffee waiting for him when he opens his eyes but there is a _loneliest bed in the whole world_ text accompanied by a picture of Bucky’s empty bed and that’s about a million times better. Bucky must have sent it as soon as he got home from the hospital this morning and Sam kind of really regrets not staying last night while Bucky went to work. He could’ve been there when Bucky got home. He could have Bucky’s solid, sleep-warm body wrapped around him right now.

It’s probably a good thing he didn’t though. He has some things he needs to take care of and he probably wouldn’t be able to pull himself out of bed and away from Bucky if he had stayed.

Number one on his list of things to do involves a trip into town and an inquiry that could change the trajectory of his entire future.

“If you don’t have coffee, I don’t have time,” Aleela says without even looking up when he steps in the doorway to her office.

But he knows her well. He’s already holding out the hazelnut latte he picked up on the way to the office.

She glances up, sees the coffee, and motions for him to sit down. “You always were my favorite.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he says. He’s kind of banking on it being the truth.

She takes the coffee from him with one eyebrow raised. “What do you want?”

“I need my job back,” he says.

She doesn’t even pretend to think about it. “No.”

It’s not the answer he’s expecting. He knows the position he left vacant has already been filled but he figured there would still be _something_ available for him.

“It doesn’t have to be the-” he starts but she cuts him off.

“No.”

He can’t decide if he’s more baffled or hurt. He really thought he’d always have a place here and he wasn’t _that_ bad at his job. He wasn’t bad at it at all. He just wasn’t amazing. But he showed up and he did it. He was always on time. He can count the number of times he called out on one hand. He was pleasant and he got along with everyone.

The only thing he even has working against him is that he quit via email and didn’t exactly give two weeks notice. But he was technically on vacation when he quit so she wasn’t expecting him back for a week anyway. And she was so understanding in her response to his resignation. She was supportive. She didn’t seem mad at all.

Sam is really having a hard time understanding why she’s being so unforgiving right now.

His face must be showing all kinds of hurt because the rigid lines of hers start to soften.

“Sam,” she says. “Why would I give you back a job you hated when you already have one you love?”

It’s more along the lines of what he would expect from her but it’s still not helpful.

“I want to move back,” he says. “And I didn’t hate this job.”

He doesn’t explain that the reason he wants to move back is because he’s hopelessly in love with a man who can’t live anywhere else. He doesn’t explain that he now knows, more than anything, that he wants to be with that man and that man wants to be with him and Wakanda is the only place that can happen.

Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t need any explanation to know exactly what’s going on.

“Oh please,” she says and sets her coffee down. “You were miserable. You hated every second of being here. You showed up and you did it because that’s who you are but you were never fulfilled. It was never enough for you. When I got that email saying you weren’t coming back, I was so proud. You were finally doing something for _you_ and look at you now. You’re happy. I’m not going to help you throw that all away for some guy.”

“You like that guy,” Sam says. He has no idea why that’s the thing he chooses to respond to.

“And you love him. What’s your point?” She’s looking at him like she expects better from him and he’s not even really sure what he did wrong.

“I can’t be with him if I’m not here,” he says because he needs her to understand. “I want to be with him.”

“Sam.” She says his name with so much sympathy it almost hurts. “It wasn’t enough the first time. What makes you think it would be now?”

He wants to say that this time is different, that everything is different. Bucky isn’t in school and he has time to spend with Sam; and Sam knows that Bucky loves him, knows that Bucky’s always been faithful to him and wanted what was best for him. This time they’re both in love and they’re happy and it’s good.

But he doesn’t. Because even as he’s thinking it, he knows it’s not true. Nothing is different. This is exactly where they were four years ago, three years ago, even two years ago. They were good until they weren’t. They were happy until they weren’t. They were together until they weren’t.

“Sam.” She says his name again and it feels like a lump in his throat. “I know you love him. But you can’t give up your entire life for him. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to him.”

 

 

* * *

 

**June 2019**

Only two more hours until Sam’s done here and then he has the whole weekend off. Two hours should go by quickly but this already feels like the longest day ever. He doesn’t want to be here anymore.

He can’t even remember the last time he was at work without being bored out of his mind. Well, it’s not so much that he’s bored. He has stuff to do and some of it’s even interesting. It’s more that he doesn’t necessarily enjoy it. The best parts of his day are the moments he’s not even doing any work- the moments when he’s handing a cup of coffee to Rashid at the front desk and he’s telling him about how his sister’s doing; or when he’s on his way back from the restroom and Neema from Cyber Security asks for his advice on what to get her boyfriend for their anniversary. Sam stretches those moments out as long as he can but they’re too few and far between; and they don’t last nearly long enough. He spends way too much time sitting at this desk in front of a computer typing away.

“Go home, Sam,” Aleela says. She’s standing in the doorway to his office with her arms crossed.

He looks at the clock on his screen. “You got me for another hour and fifty-six minutes.”

“Not that you’re counting.”

“Never,” he jokes.

She shakes her head with a fond smile. “Go home. Spend some time with your boyfriend. Have a good weekend. Get out of here.”

Sam doesn’t need to be told twice. He grabs his wallet and keys and heads out.

On the way home, he stops at the grocery store to pick up a few things. If he’s going to be home early, he might as well make a real home-cooked meal. It’s been awhile since he actually cooked and him and Bucky could both probably benefit from eating something that doesn’t come in a package with microwave instructions.

He’s not sure if Bucky’s even going to be home yet when he gets there so he’s more than just a little surprised when he walks in and finds all of their furniture pushed up against the walls. Bucky and Steve are in the middle of the room, shirtless, dripping in sweat, and panting.

Steve’s flat on his back with Bucky straddled over him - both hands fixed firmly around Steve’s throat. For a second Sam thinks that maybe Bucky’s snapped back into Winter Soldier mode but then he says, “Wilson, will you please tell Steve that I’m better at baseball.”

Steve snakes a hand up and swats it at Bucky’s face and Sam just keeps on walking right into the kitchen. He learned a long time ago not to even ask when it comes to those two. He loves them both dearly but they’re like two overgrown children around each other sometimes. 

There are a few questionable sounds after that but by the time he’s got the ingredients for the sauce mixed and simmering in a pan he hears the furniture being moved back where it belongs.

“Sorry about the mess.”

Sam looks over his shoulder at Steve who’s pulling an empty glass out of one of the cupboards.

“It’s not a problem,” he says. He’s actually glad Bucky has a physical outlet in Steve. Sam’s not really strong enough to wrestle with either one of them like that. It’s good that they have each other.

“Haven’t seen you in awhile,” Steve says.

And now that he’s brought it up Sam realizes it’s true. It’s been a few weeks at least. Sam’s actually not even sure when the last time he talked to Steve was. Or T’Challa. Or Nakia.

“You should stay for dinner,” he says. He’s cooking more than enough for three people anyway and he likes having Steve around.

“I don’t wanna intrude.”

“You’re not,” Bucky says. He comes up behind Sam and kisses his shoulder. “Hi, baby.”

He’s in a good mood. Sam can practically feel the happiness radiating off him. It’s kind of contagious.

“I don’t want to get in the way of-,” Steve gestures to where Bucky’s standing with his hands on Sam’s hips, “that.”

“You’re not,” Sam assures him.

Bucky pulls away and grabs a glass from the cupboard for himself. “Yeah. It’s not like you being here has ever stopped us before.”

“Believe me, I know,” Steve says. He sounds distressed.

Sam think it’s kind of funny.

Bucky shrugs. “I’ll fuck him on this table right now.”

He’s doing it just to make Steve uncomfortable and it’s working.

Steve looks at the table with actual pain in his eyes. “Please don’t.”

“Come on, Stevie. Can you blame me? Look at that ass.”

The conversation has taken a bit of an unexpected turn and Sam’s not really sure what’s even happening anymore. All he knows is that there are two super soldiers staring at his ass. It’s a great ass, he knows this, and the blush creeping up Steve’s cheeks is kind of hilarious but it’s all a little strange.

“You know this is weird, right?” he says.

“Not any weirder than Steve wanting to get in your pants when you first met,” Bucky says. He is completely unconcerned by the words coming out of his mouth.

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it. He scratches the back of his head. “It was a long time ago.”

Sam can’t help laughing at that. He doesn’t comment on the mutual nature of that situation. It _was_ a long time ago and until this moment he completely forgot the thought had ever even crossed his mind.

“It worked out for the best anyway,” Steve says. His face is still bright red. “You two are, you know… good.”

Bucky’s looking at Steve with what can only be described as glee. He’s such an asshole.

“And you’ve got T’Challa,” Sam points out.

The corners of Steve’s mouth automatically start to turn upward. If he was a dog, his tail would be wagging like someone just said the word _walk_. It’s embarrassing. And Sam’s happy for him. But both Steve and Bucky are still covered in sweat and dinner’s going to be ready in about a half an hour and he is not letting them sit at his dinner table like that.

“I hope you guys are planning on showering if you want food,” he says.

Steve’s the first one to go and as soon as the shower turns on, Bucky’s right back up behind Sam, hands on his hips.

“How was your day?” he asks. He’s the only person in the world that can somehow manage to sound both sincerely interested in the answer and like the only thing he cares about is getting his hands down Sam’s pants.

“Fine,” Sam says, pretending to be oblivious to what he’s doing. “How was yours?”

Bucky drags him away from the stove and turns him around, pushing him up against one of the counters. “I missed you.”

He moves in for a kiss and even though he’s gross and sweaty, Sam lets him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it. He loves kissing Bucky. Bucky kisses with his whole body, every single inch of it. It’s one of Sam’s favorite things in the world. He likes the way Bucky’s hands roam all over his body with no real destination in mind- they just go wherever Bucky feels like touching him; the way Bucky slips his tongue into Sam’s mouth, lazily sliding their tongues together, tasting, teasing, before pulling it back out; the way Bucky presses his body against Sam’s, creating a bit of friction, but just enough so that Sam’s left aching for more.

He can’t believe how easily Bucky still gets his blood racing, even now, at the most inopportune moments.

“Steve’s gonna be back soon,” he says. He’s not sure if he even actually cares.

Bucky’s got both his hands up under Sam’s shirt now and Sam loves the contrast between skin on skin and metal on skin.

Bucky drags his lips down Sam’s jaw and over his neck. “I can be quick.”

Sam thinks about every single time they’ve ever had sex. “No you can’t.”

Bucky laughs against his collarbone. “This is a terrible situation.”

He straightens back up to press their lips together again, grumbling against Sam’s mouth to show his dissatisfaction with the circumstances, then pulls his hands off Sam and settles them on the counter behind him, bracketing him in.

When he pulls back from kissing Sam he takes a deep breath. “Tell me about your day.”

He’s looking at Sam intently, giving him his full cerebral attention. His dick’s hard but he really wants to know how Sam’s day was. It’s endearing and sexy and so fucking charming all at the same time. Bucky Barnes is kind of the perfect boyfriend and Sam cannot believe how surreal that thought is.

“I love you,” he says, instead of answering. He can’t help it. It’s basically bursting out of him.

Bucky’s unexpected smile is brilliant.

“Seriously, you guys,” Steve gripes, walking into the kitchen. His hair is wet and he’s wearing some of Bucky’s clean clothes.

Bucky takes a step back from Sam. “Do you remember that day I came home early and T’Challa had you s-”

“Okay, okay,” Steve says, cutting him off, and Sam definitely does not want to know what the hell Bucky had to see that day.

Sam goes back over to the stove just to get the thought out of his head and to make sure nothing’s burning, and Bucky leaves to go take a shower.

“How’s work?” Steve asks.

“It’s work, you know,” Sam says. There’s not really much to say about it. It’s a job.

Steve nods and starts pulling out dishes to set the table.

“What about you?” Sam says. “Are you still happy you traded in the shield?”

The smile that spreads across Steve’s face is answer enough but he nods and says, “Yeah. Yeah I am.”

Something about the certainty with which he says it makes Sam feel a little despondent. He’s not even sure why. When he first met Steve - when he was still Captain America - Sam never could have imagined he’d ever see him like this- happy and settled.

It’s… it’s a good thing and Sam feels guilty for the way his stomach turns over at the thought of it.

The rest of the night passes in easy camaraderie with flowing conversation and no shortage of laughs but there’s a morose feeling in the air around Sam. He can’t stop thinking about how much he doesn’t want it to end, how much he doesn’t want to go back to work on Monday.

 

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 20, 2021)**

“Are you gonna do it?” Sam asks. He’s just starting to break a sweat.

“I don’t know,” Natasha says.

They’re about a half a mile into their run and Sam’s not normally a chat-while-he-runs kind of guy but he kind of needs to work through the stuff going on in his head and he needs to do it out loud with someone. Plus, he really wants to know if he’s about to lose his best friend to the country he’s now pretty sure he can’t - or at least shouldn’t - stay in.

“But you want to?” he presses.

“I don’t know what I want,” she says. He can tell by the furrow of her brow that it’s the truth. She has no idea what to do.

“I asked Aleela for my job back today.”

Nat looks at him but doesn’t say anything.

“She said no,” he says.

Nat snorts. “I didn’t realize you were that bad at it.”

He shoves her and she laughs.

“She said I shouldn’t make my whole life about Bucky.”

“She’s probably right.”

“I know.”

And he really does. But it’s not like he has nothing else here. He had an entire life here before he left.

Except the more he thinks about it, the less he’s sure that’s true.

He had a job here but it was just a job. It was just a thing he did. It wasn’t a part of him and even now, the idea of quitting his job at the high school to go back to that office is kind of depressing.

He had friends here but he’s trying to think back to the last time he actually spent time with them while he was living here without Bucky being a part of it. And it’s not that he thinks they should have separate friends; it’s just that maybe Sam should’ve maintained a relationship with them, Steve especially, outside of Bucky. It’s just another way Sam’s entire life revolved around him.

And what did Sam even do in his free time? He had a _lot_ of free time, especially as Bucky got further into the nursing program. But Sam can’t remember what he ever did. It’s like he didn’t have any hobbies at all.

And the thing is- Sam has all that and more in New York. He has a job that gives him a reason to get out of bed in the morning. He has Nat and even Tony and Pepper and he has his sister and her family. He has his meetings at the VA and he actually leaves his apartment regularly. He runs, he goes to the gym, he goes to karaoke night at the bar down the street, he plays basketball with some of his coworkers on the weekend. He has a life.

He just doesn’t have Bucky.

He doesn’t say any of this out loud though and by the time they loop back around to the palace, they’re both drenched in sweat and gasping for air. Sam lies down on the ground and Nat starts stretching.

“If I moved here it wouldn’t be for Nakia,” she says once she’s got her breath back. “It would be for me.”

Sam considers this. Nat might have other reasons for wanting to move here but she wasn’t even thinking about it until Nakia said she wanted more from her. “But she’s part of it.”

“She’s…” Nat starts. She looks both frustrated at not being able to verbalize what she’s thinking and smitten at the idea of the woman she so clearly loves. “She’s a part of the package.”

He supposes that’s fair. The problem for him is that Bucky _is_ the package.

Aleela’s right. He can’t give up his entire life just for a guy. But now that he has him back, he’s not sure how he’s supposed to live without him either.

 

 

* * *

 

**May 2018**

“This is… so yellow,” Sam says. He’s staring at one of the walls in Steve’s room that is now covered in a fresh coat of bright yellow paint.

Bucky’s looking at it with so much joy Sam thinks he might actually start to cry. He cannot believe he even let Bucky talk him into doing this. Steve’s going to be so pissed when he gets back from that conference.

“What does he even have against minions?” Sam asks. Steve’s a grown man and the fervor with which he hates those stupid things is entertaining but Sam’s still not sure where it even came from.

“They’re creepy and annoying,” Bucky says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“They’re fake.”

“Still creepy and annoying.”

“You’re creepy and annoying,” Sam mutters.

Bucky ignores him and opens up a can of blue paint, then pours it into a clean tray, before he starts rolling it onto the lower one-third of the wall.

Sam doesn’t start helping right away. He’d rather watch the muscles in Bucky’s shoulders and back work while he slides the roller-brush up and down the wall; and it’s not like the guy actually needs his help. He’s perfectly capable of painting a wall all by himself.

Eventually Sam just sits down on the floor and leans back on his hands to get a really good view. It would be better if Bucky took off his shirt. And his pants. He should really just be doing this naked.

“You’re a really good painter,” Bucky says sarcastically after about ten minutes of doing it by himself.

“Hey, man, you’re doing a great job without me.” It’s true. Bucky really doesn’t need his help. Also, Sam likes being difficult. There’s just something about Bucky that makes him want to see how far he can push him sometimes. It’s probably not his best trait but he’s pretty sure Bucky actually enjoys it; and it usually ends in amazing sex so Sam’s not too concerned about it.

“Can you at least pull my hair back for me?” Bucky says and holds out his wrist where there’s a hair tie wrapped around it. His hands are covered in paint and he’s been shaking his hair out of his face all day. Sam’s not really sure how it took him this long to remember he could do something about it.

He heaves a put-upon sigh - though he really doesn’t mind at all - and pulls himself up. It takes some maneuvering to get the hair tie off Bucky’s wrist without sliding it through the paint and then Bucky bends his knees a little to give Sam a better position. Sam pulls it back for him with no problem - he’s done it enough times now to know how - and when he’s done, Bucky turns around to thank him with a kiss.

But Sam’s feeling… playful. Yes, that is definitely the word he would use for why he pushes the blue paint-covered roller-brush in Bucky’s face.

Bucky’s reaction is to just stand there - half his face covered in blue paint - and blink. Well, that’s his reaction for about four seconds. And Sam really should’ve known this wouldn’t end well for him. Bucky is significantly stronger than him and much faster. He’s also a good boyfriend though and seriously holds his punches when they’re playing around so it takes him several minutes to actually get any real amount of paint on Sam.

Eventually he gets Sam pinned face-first up against the wall where the now completely messed up paint is still wet.

“Say you’re sorry,” he says into Sam’s ear.

Sam should. He started this whole thing and it was completely unnecessary. “Fuck you,” he says instead.

Bucky makes a sound that Sam’s pretty sure is laughter, then nips at his ear.

He pushes away from the wall and releases Sam.

Sam is completely covered in paint but so is Bucky so he doesn’t feel too bad about it. Unfortunately there’s also paint all over the floor. Bucky put a tarp down before they started painting but there’s no way that overturned can of paint didn’t leak through it.

One look at Bucky’s face tells him he’s not the only one thinking it.

“This is your fault,” Sam says.

Bucky splutters. “How is this my fault?”

“Look what you did,” Sam says, gesturing at the floor.

“I just wanted my loving boyfriend to help me with my hair,” Bucky says and Sam pretends like hearing him refer to him as his _boyfriend_ doesn’t still give him butterflies.

“You just wanted to fuck with Steve.”

Bucky’s smirk is the smirk of an asshole. It’s beautiful.

“We’re gonna need more paint,” he says. 

There’s a trip to the hardware store in which they’re both still covered in paint and receive more than a few inquisitive-bordering-on-disdainful looks. Sam doesn’t really mind. If it wasn’t for this trip, he probably never would’ve learned that Bucky knows all the words to “Single Ladies.”

It takes the rest of the day for them to finish painting the room and they definitely ruined the carpet. Bucky decides that since they’re going to have to replace it anyway, they might as well just really go for it. He paints his best approximation of giant minion feet to go with [the minion-colored walls](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/0f/0e/44/0f0e4462e3b8828431f5976a932311ac.jpg). It’s… horrendous but it’s really not the worst part. The worst part is that when the paint is dry and they move the furniture back into the room, Bucky replaces all of Steve’s normal things, with minion paraphernalia. He gives him a [minion bed with minion pillows](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/CxbfokdYwrU/maxresdefault.jpg) and a minion lamp (and night light); there are [creepy minions curtains](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/9b/23/8b/9b238bacfca83dedfc3208778969a5fb.jpg) and a minion clock and [little minion figurines scattered everywhere](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/YaFB5xxgQoQ/maxresdefault.jpg). It’s a lot. Truly spectacularly awful.

Bucky looks so proud of himself.

When Steve gets back from his conference a few day later, Sam and Bucky are lying on the couch watching tv.

Bucky’s trying to balance a spoon on his nose, and even though the position he’s lying in - on his back with his head resting on the arm of the couch - should make it fairly simple, he’s failing miserably.

“This is impossible,” he says, voice full of exasperation, as the spoon starts to slide to the left.

“Babe,” Sam says in his most delicate voice possible. “I think it’s time to admit the spoon won.”

Bucky huffs and puts the spoon back on his face, just as Steve comes through the door.

He offers a tired “hey” on his way to his bedroom and Sam actually forgets they even did anything to it until he hears Steve’s “Oh what the hell.”

He comes back out and Bucky pretends like he has no idea what’s going on.

“How was your trip?”

“Seriously, Buck?” Steve says with his hands on his hips. “The carpet’s ruined.”

Bucky keeps a totally straight face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve sighs and looks at Sam for help.

Sam shrugs and rests his head back on Bucky’s chest.

“I liked you both a lot better when you hated each other,” Steve says and walks out of the room.

“The carpet guy will be here on Tuesday,” Bucky shouts after him.

The look of joy on his face is almost worth the two dozen life-size cardboard cutouts of Donald Trump staring at them when they wake up a few days later. Almost.

 

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 20, 2021)**

Sam is at a fork in the road. If he goes right, he can be with the person who is undoubtedly the love of his life, but he has to give up the life he built for himself and probably the well-being he’s been hanging on to by a thread. If he goes left, he can go back to that life - the one where he’s living for himself and he’s doing okay - but it’s always going to feel like he’s missing that last piece of the puzzle; he’s always going to feel at least a little too cold and a little too empty.

Okay so it’s more like Sophie’s choice than a fork in the road.

Except it’s not really at all. The choice is obvious. He doesn’t want to admit it but deep down he knows there’s no choice at all. He has to choose his life in New York. He has to choose himself. He did everything wrong last time, and as much as he loves Bucky and as good as Bucky is, he’s not enough. He’s just a person. And it wouldn’t be fair to either of them for Sam to place all of his happiness in Bucky’s hands. He can’t do that again. He can’t ever go back to where he was when he left Wakanda. He didn’t realize it until someone else pointed it out, but he _is_ in a much better place now. He’s come a long way, but the change was so gradual he wasn’t able to see it until he took a step back. He was a disaster back then - he was depressed and floundering and it really had nothing to do with Bucky. He can see that now. And when he came to New York, it took months for him just to be able to force himself to start actually _living_ again, to start being a person again. It hasn’t been perfect; he still has moments, and even days, that feel too dark to get through but he does get through them.

Bucky is his favorite person in the entire world but the choice is obvious.

Maybe it’s a moot point anyway. He hasn’t even talked to Bucky about any of it. Maybe Bucky doesn’t even want him to stay. Maybe Bucky’s just trying to get some while Sam’s in town, no strings attached, since he knows Sam’s going back to New York.

Okay so Sam knows enough to know that’s not true. But a small part of him is hoping it is so that at least he wouldn’t be the one making the decision. It would be so much easier if it wasn’t on him.

But it is and he’s going to leave and now there’s a timer on their relationship. Now he only has two days left with Bucky. He has to figure out how to tell Bucky he can’t stay.

Right now is not the time though. Right now is for basking in the company of all his friends as they sit around a table and share a meal together. It’s the first time Sam’s actually gotten to spend any time with Steve and T’Challa since their wedding; and he only has two days left with all of them.

So he’s going to sit here and eat this delicious food and laugh with his friends and pretend like he doesn’t notice the way Bucky’s not-so-subtly watching him from across the table.

“It’s a frivolous American tradition,” Nakia says. They’re debating the merits of going on a honeymoon since Steve and T’Challa have elected not to.

“Actually, I think it’s European,” Natasha says.

“Okay, a frivolous European tradition,” Nakia says and now that Sam _knows_ about her and Nat, he is blindingly aware of just how flirtatious every single word they say to each other is. He has no idea how it took Bucky pointing it out for him to notice. It might as well be written in big block letters across their foreheads.

“You wouldn’t want to spend a couple of weeks at the beach not worrying about anything?” Nat asks. She’s wearing a coy smile. It sounds like she’s proposing exactly that scenario to Nakia right here in front of everybody.

Nakia brings her glass to her lips and takes a sip. “I didn’t say that.” She’s got a smirk on her face and Sam is kind of curious exactly what she has in mind for this hypothetical trip but mostly he hopes he never finds out.

“I’m sure that can be arranged whether or not you two make it official,” T’Challa says nonchalantly, causing Nat to choke on her drink and Steve to splutter out a “What?”

Nakia’s reaction to being caught is almost imperceptible but her jaw does tighten and it looks like she stops breathing for a couple of seconds.

Underneath T'Challa’s air of indifference, amusement is shining through. “Ms. Romanoff is an excellent spy but she has not yet mastered the art of sneaking out.”

Natasha shifts in her seat and T’Challa continues, turning his head to address Nakia directly. “You think I do not notice your affections but I am not oblivious.”

Steve is still confused. “What the hell did I miss?”

“They’ve been sleeping together for years, man. Where have you been?” Sam say, pretending like he’s always been in the know. It’s worth it for the way the corner of Bucky’s mouth starts to pull up.

Steve looks at Nat and is completely serious when he asks, “Is this true? Is that why you asked  about moving here?”

“You’re moving to Wakanda?” Nakia blurts out. It’s the least restrained response Sam has ever seen from her.

Nat looks like a wild animal trapped between a hunter with a gun and a hundred foot cliff. He can’t really blame her for what she does next.

“Wilson and Barnes are sleeping together.”

“Obviously,” Steve says, dismissive.

Sam would be curious what that’s even supposed to mean considering this is the first time he’s even seen Steve since it happened but he’s too busy looking at Bucky.

Bucky who’s looking back at him like nothing else is even happening, like it’s just the two of them at this table.

Suddenly Sam feels like he’s in a snow globe, like he’s living in this moment that nobody else can touch, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before the glass shatters and all the liquid spills out, and they’ll never be able to get it back.

He has no idea how he’s supposed to go back to New York alone in a couple of days.

He’s saved from having to figure it out right now when T’Challa begins to speak. “Since we are sharing all of our secrets tonight, it is only fair that Steve and I tell you we have decided we are going to have a child.”

That gets everyone’s attention. There’s a moment of stunned silence before everyone begins to offer their congratulations. Steve is beaming and Sam’s so happy for him he almost forgets his own impending desolation.

He might have a chance if Bucky wasn’t still looking at him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry?

**Present Day (June 21, 2021)**

Early morning sex is Sam’s favorite way to wake up but it’s the moments that happen after - the unguarded smiles and the easy touches and the way everything seems to move in slow motion - that he knows he’ll remember forever. Those are the memories that will stick in his head and pull at his heart at the most random of times.

His muscles are loose and he can practically feel the endorphins rushing through his body but it’s the way Bucky’s lightly dragging his fingers up and down his arm and quietly watching him that has Sam feeling shaky, like he’ll never be able to get enough oxygen in his lungs. These are the moments that mean the most to him, the ones he’s not sure how he’s supposed to let go of.

He needs to talk to Bucky, needs to tell him that this fairytale they’re living in right now is only temporary, that he has to go back to his life in New York, but he’s not ready to ruin the simple magic of the morning yet. He needs to hold on to it, to stretch it out, for just a second longer.

“Kiss me,” he says.

Bucky’s smile is playful as he takes Sam’s hand in his and brings it to his mouth, placing a delicate kiss to the inside of his wrist. He places Sam’s hand against his chest, right in the center, then pushes forward to brush their lips together. When he pulls back, he runs his thumb over Sam’s bottom lip with a feather-light touch; the gentleness of it has Sam floating.

He can’t break this moment.

Bucky covers Sam’s hand with his own, holding it in place against his chest. “Who’s Trevor?”

His expression is still soft but there’s concern written in it too, almost like he’s afraid of the answer.

It’s the kind of question Sam generally sidesteps with his friends, just shrugs it off, but there’s always been something about Bucky - maybe it’s the severity of his own trauma or the nonchalance with which he navigates it - that has Sam opening up.

“Trevor is a kid I failed,” he says. He’s not sure if it’s exactly the truth but he knows it’s not a lie. He knows the guilt he feels rolling around in his stomach isn’t for nothing.

Bucky runs his thumb slowly over the back of Sam’s hand. Sam can feel Bucky’s chest rising and falling beneath his palm, like a steady staccato grounding him.

“How?” Bucky asks. It’s such a brilliant question, so to the point yet purposefully open-ended.

“I’m not sure yet,” Sam says. Because that’s the truth. Because he could’ve done better, could’ve done more, but he hasn’t quite figured out how yet.

“He’s a student,” Bucky says but it’s a question. They haven’t talked about Sam’s job at the high school yet but of course Bucky already knows. He’s just confirming.

Sam nods, then realizes that’s no longer true. “He was. He graduated.”

Bucky’s thumb keeps moving back and forth along Sam’s skin but he doesn’t say anything. He’s waiting for Sam to continue.

“He wanted to enlist,” Sam says and he knows that to someone like Bucky - Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, Winter Soldier, Hydra’s asset - that’s enough of an explanation; but it’s not the whole story, so he keeps talking. “He wanted to be like me and I… just let him think that was okay. I got him in touch with an officer but I never told him that he might die or that he’ll definitely watch someone he cares about die. I didn’t do my job.”

“You think if you told him about the nightmares maybe he would’ve changed his mind,” Bucky says. It’s not what Sam said and it’s such an over-simplification of the issue but it’s… right. It’s sort of perfect in it’s simplicity. The thing about death is that nobody ever believes it can happen to them. People feel weirdly invincible when it comes to death, until it does touch their life and by then it’s too late. And death is never the worst outcome anyway. It’s the stuff that comes after you’ve cheated it - the suffocating guilt and the nightmares - that eats away at a person.

Maybe if Sam had told Trevor that, had told him literally _anything_ , he wouldn’t feel like he has one more person’s blood on his hands.

“He wouldn’t have,” Bucky says. His voice is quiet but firm. He doesn’t elaborate but he says it with such conviction that a part of Sam can’t help believing it’s true.

“How are you okay?” Sam asks. He doesn’t mean to but it comes out anyway. Bucky has suffered more trauma than just about anyone he’s ever met - and Sam knows a lot of fucked up people - but Bucky is functioning and happy and his past is in the past.

This time Bucky’s thumb does stop moving and he pushes Sam’s hand ever-so-slightly tighter against his chest. “I’m not,” he says. He’s looking right at Sam but he’s seeing something in his head and Sam both desperately wants to know what it is and to never find out the extent of the horrors that live in Bucky’s mind.

But that’s the thing- his mind is a minefield of pain and tragedy and somehow he’s learned to sidestep every trigger.

“I broke Steve’s arm last month,” Bucky says, shattering that notion. “I worked a double shift at the hospital and-,” he pauses and licks his lips. “I had just found out you were coming for the wedding and Steve came up behind me like he’s been doing for years and-,” he shrugs.

It’s sort of disconcerting. Bucky and Steve spent months working on that exact issue and it was pretty much resolved. Sam always made it a point to make his presence known regardless but Bucky was doing okay. The fact that being tired and mildly agitated could make it pop back up so easily is… honestly it’s kind of comforting. It’s not that Sam wants Bucky to be suffering. It just makes him feel marginally better to know that he’s not the only one struggling to heal.

“I have to be in between the instrument tray and the parents at the hospital,” Bucky says. “I can’t… I don’t like the parents being there at all. Especially not when they have bags. But they’re always there.”

It’s such an illogical thing and yet it makes perfect sense.

“I disabled the doorbell,” he continues. “It didn’t actually bother me but I figured it was better if I didn’t stop listening for people and I still do a sweep every few days. Sometimes more.”

“How do you stand it?” Sam asks. He means _how do you get through the day with all that noise constantly pushing at the boundaries of your sanity_.

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. He’s staring at a spot on Sam’s chest like it holds all the answers to the universe. Eventually he shifts his gaze back up to meet Sam’s and opens his mouth. “I just try to be better than they made me.”

It might be the most heartbreaking thing Sam’s ever heard. He knows it’s why Bucky is the person he is today- it’s the reason he chose to save sick kids and why he’s so yielding and easy-going with the people he cares about; it’s the reason he chose to let Sam go even though it hurt him and why Sam knows he’ll do it again.

It’s the reason leaving him again is going to be the hardest thing Sam ever has to do.

 

 

* * *

 

**April 2017**

Walking through the front door and finding Bucky with his arm shoved in an air vent isn’t exactly uncommon. The guy’s come a long way but it’s only been a year since the last time someone hijacked his brain. It’s not exactly surprising that he checks their apartment for surveillance equipment or something worse every now and then.

The problem right now is not that Bucky has the cover to the vent off; it’s that he’s sitting on the floor below it, knees curled up to his chest, looking like a scared child.

Sam’s instinct is to go straight to him but his training tells him to at least clear the room first. He listens for any signs of life elsewhere in the apartment while he casts a quick glance around to make sure there’s nobody else here. He finds nothing so he takes a cautious step in Bucky’s direction.

“Bucky,” he says. He makes it as firm as he can without sounding harsh. He doesn’t want to scare him but he doesn’t want there to be any confusion about who’s saying his name and why.

Bucky looks up at him and despite the pain in his eyes, Sam can instantly tell it’s _Bucky_. Relief floods through him.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says quietly. His voice doesn’t break but he sounds so agonized it might as well; and Sam doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for but he knows he should never have to.

Sam kneels down in front of him. “Hey.” He says it like a greeting, like a _there you are_ and Bucky attempts a smile but it doesn’t work so Sam pushes his hair off his face and tries to wipe away the tears he’s now close enough to see on Bucky’s face.

Bucky presses his cheek into Sam’s palm and Sam can feel him grinding his teeth. He hates this.

“I killed them,” Bucky says and Sam doesn’t even bother to ask who they are. It doesn’t matter. The woman in Beijing that never made it home to her daughter or the team in Somalia that never got to complete their mission or the Starks who never made it to the airport. They’re all the same: lives unfinished because of what Bucky’s hands did.

And Sam can’t make it better for him. So he doesn’t try. Instead he stands up, pulling Bucky with him, and leads him to the walk-in closet in Steve’s bedroom; it’s the only one in the apartment. He grabs a bunch of blankets and pillows on the way and arranges them in a nest on the floor and pulls Bucky down into it with him. He doesn’t know why this helps. If anything, he thinks it should make Bucky feel trapped, but Bucky always seems to settle a little when they do it.

Sam gives him a little bit of time to adjust to being in the blanket nest with him and sort out some of his thoughts before he starts talking. He doesn’t have a bunch of obnoxious marine life trivia memorized so he goes for what he does know.

“Pop quiz. What’s the best method of getting caffeine into your body?”

“Definitely not drinking a dark chocolate melted truffle mocha from Starbucks,” Bucky mumbles into the pillow he’s lying on. He sounds wrecked, like he’s been through the emotional ringer but he’s talking and he’s joking. It’s a good sign.

“Wrong,” Sam says and Bucky lifts his head a little.

“That thing is disgusting,” he grouses.

“Orange juice with pulp is disgusting,” Sam says. He doesn’t really care about the pulp content of his juice but he knows how Bucky feels about it.

Bucky shifts closer to Sam. “You’re so mean to me.”

“You just called the dark chocolate melted truffle mocha disgusting.”

“Mean,” Bucky repeats but he’s got his fist balled in the fabric of Sam’s shirt and he sighs when Sam runs his fingers through his hair.

“The Dodgers moved to Los Angeles,” Sam says. Bucky already knows this. Sam just likes to remind them from time to time.

Bucky’s mumbled response is incoherent and then his breathing evens out as he slips into sleep. Sam doesn’t stop running his fingers through his hair for a few more minutes though. After he’s sure Bucky’s really asleep, he pulls out his phone to watch a movie while he lies there. He’s not going anywhere, even if Bucky is asleep.

Half-way into the movie Steve shows up in the doorway of the closet. He stares at Sam and Bucky in the bundle of blankets for about three seconds before he slips his shoes off and joins them, sitting on the other side of Bucky.

“What are you watching?” he whispers and Sam tilts his phone enough for him to see too.

Eventually Sam’s battery runs out so Steve brings the actual tv into the closet and they put on _Mythbusters_.

They’re on the fourth episode when Bucky wakes up. He lifts his head, looks at the tv, then at Steve.

“This is weird,” he says and lets his head fall back down on the pillow. His voice is rough from sleep.

“You’re in my closet,” Steve points out.

“Why is there a tv in your closet?” Bucky asks. He’s already snuggling in closer against Sam.

“Mythbusters,” Steve says, like it’s obvious.

Bucky doesn’t say anything to that and they all watch the rest of the episode in silence. Once the final myth has been busted, Bucky says, “Stevie?”

“Yeah Buck?”

“Sam’s been talking shit about the Dodgers again.”

The look of deep and personal offense on Steve’s face makes it impossible for Sam to feel anything other than delight. He loves these stupid boys from Brooklyn and he’d do anything for them. He’s never going to stop fucking with them but he loves them.

 

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 21, 2021)**

“We need to talk,” Sam says.

He’s been putting it off all day and he can’t do it any longer. He already left Bucky without warning once. He’s not going to do it again. It’s not fair to either one of them.

Bucky nods in response but it’s so small, so melancholic it’s as if he already knows what Sam’s going to say.

Sam takes a deep breath. “I fly back to New York tomorrow.”

It’s not what he actually means and Bucky probably already knew when his flight was but Sam’s not really sure how else to say it.

“You don’t have to go,” Bucky says.

“I do,” Sam insists. "My whole life is there."

He can see Bucky swallow, see the way he’s trying to choke back any emotion, and that might be the hardest part. Because now Sam knows. Now he understands that everything Bucky ever did, every time Sam thought he was pulling away or that he didn’t care, that was Bucky trying not to let what he wanted eclipse what he thought Sam needed. And here he is doing it again, trying to tamp down whatever it is he’s feeling, trying to make himself smaller, just so that his wishes aren’t a burden to Sam.

He’s a self-sacrificing idiot and Sam is never going to love anyone more.

“Can we-,” Bucky starts but stops himself. He looks at the ground, bites his lip, and the metal plates of his arm adjust minutely, like they’re responding to tension. “Will you come somewhere with me? Just for tonight.”

The truth is Sam would go anywhere with Bucky. He’d probably even stay in Wakanda if Bucky actually asked him to. It would be the wrong decision but he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to refuse. That’s probably why Bucky doesn’t ask.

“Of course,” Sam says. He has no idea what Bucky has in mind but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want to be anywhere but with him for his last night here.

 

 

* * *

**New Year's Eve 2016**

“Earhart of aviation,” Sam reads out. It’s an easy clue, basically a freebie.

The _boom_ and subsequent crackle of a firework in the near distance shakes the building and Bucky sighs. It’s a sigh of annoyance more than anything. Neither of them are actually triggered by the fireworks going off, especially since they already know what’s happening and are prepared for it. The real reason they’re sitting in Steve’s closet surrounded by a nest of blankets and pillows is because they’d both rather avoid having to socialize and make small talk with a bunch of people they don’t really know at the palace. They didn’t _say_ that’s why they’re hiding out but it’s kind of an unspoken understanding between the two of them.

“It’s not even midnight,” Bucky says. He’s referring to the erratic timing with which fireworks keep going off. “Amelia.”

Sam writes _Amelia_ into 49-down. “People like lighting things on fire and watching what happens.”

“People are stupid,” Bucky says, zero venom in his voice. For someone who’s been screwed over by humans in just about every conceivable way possible, he’s surprisingly less than bitter about them. It’s more like he’s just resigned to the fact that people will be people- good, bad, or ugly.

Sam looks at the next clue. “Word with man or mat.”

“Door,” Bucky says, then sighs again. He’s being uncharacteristically restless.

“Dude,” Sam says. It’s stressing him out.

“What’s your favorite movie?” Bucky asks, apropos of nothing.

“What? I don’t know. Why?”

“You’ve seen Titanic, right?”

“Yes,” Sam replies hesitantly. He has no idea where this is going.

“What did you think?” Bucky asks.

“It was… long.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. He’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling and he’s being _weird_. Maybe the fireworks are bothering him more than Sam thought.

Bucky takes a deep breath but doesn’t release it right away. He holds it in for so long Sam thinks he’s going to start turning blue before he finally exhales and starts to speak. “I’m sorry,” he says. His voice is soft but it sounds loud in the quiet of the closet. “For trying to kill you.”

Sam has no idea how to react to that. He’s not even sure if he heard him correctly. They’ve never talked about the way they actually met or really anything that happened between them during the times when Bucky wasn’t himself. He’s not sure why Bucky’s bringing it up now or how he’s even supposed to respond. It’s not everyday the guy you love apologizes for almost murdering you several times.

It’s not everyday you fall in love with the guy who almost murdered you several times either though.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Bucky says. He’s still staring up at the ceiling but his hands are balled up into tight fists like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded here in this moment. “What I did… it’s not okay. I just want you to know I’m sorry.”

But Sam does have something to say to that. He needs Bucky to know that even though what he did wasn’t okay, Sam doesn’t fault him for it, doesn’t even hold it against him. He knows Bucky, the _real_ Bucky, would never have done those things and he’s known it for awhile. Sam let go of his anger and resentment toward him a long time ago. There’s a very specific memory he has of lying on a disgusting mattress on the floor of a shitty apartment, Bucky’s arms wrapped around him, that sticks out in his mind. It wasn’t the exact moment things changed but it was a turning point. And now Sam can’t imagine ringing in the new year with any other person in the entire world.

“Hey,” Sam says and Bucky’s chest rises just at the address. “Come here.”

Sam pulls at Bucky’s arm until Bucky complies and sits up, facing him. There’s so much sadness, so much pain, in his eyes that Sam is ready to burn down the entire world just to find the people responsible for putting it there. 

Right now what he needs though is for Bucky to hear him, to understand and to believe what he’s about to say. He doesn’t touch him; he needs his words to be the sole focus here.

“You and me,” he starts and makes sure to hold Bucky’s gaze. “We’re good.”

Bucky starts to protest but Sam won’t let him.

“No. I know who you are.”

This time Bucky does look down and Sam can’t stop him.

“You don’t,” Bucky whispers.

“Yes, I do.” Sam says it with as much conviction as he can muster. “Do you think I would’ve put my life on the line for somebody who wasn’t worth it? Do you think Steve would have?”

Bucky opens his mouth but Sam already knows the exact argument he’s going to make so he shuts it down before the words can even be formed.

“I don’t know every version of you. I read about Sergeant Barnes in a text book and Steve never shut up about the guy from Brooklyn that always had his back but that person doesn’t exist anymore. Whatever… whatever strange amalgam you are of the guy you used to be and the one Hydra tried to make you, that’s the person _I_ know. That’s the person I love. I know who you are and I love you.”

He needs Bucky to know how he feels and he’ll say it as many times as it takes.

Bucky’s still looking down but he’s not trying to argue anymore so Sam lets the silence linger.

Eventually Bucky does look up and there’s a little less pain behind his eyes. He looks a little freer.

“Thank you,” he says and Sam isn’t sure which part he’s thanking him for but it doesn’t matter. Bucky’s voice doesn’t sound quite so broken this time and that’s really all Sam could hope for.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is up with Titanic now?” Sam asks. He mostly just wants to lighten the mood and maybe make Bucky smile but he’s also a little curious.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen it,” Bucky says. “People just keep talking about some door.”

Sam starts laughing and Bucky looks confused but there’s also a smile slowly spreading across his face so Sam considers it a win.

After that Sam tries to explain the door thing to Bucky and even pulls up a clip of the scene on youtube but Bucky doesn’t understand what the big deal is.

“I’d let you lie on the door,” he says, like that’s what any decent person would do.

“But there’s room for two people,” Sam says.

“Not comfortably,” Bucky argues.

“They’re floating in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. I don’t think anybody’s worried about being comfortable.”

“Maybe he couldn’t climb on it without it tipping over,” Bucky suggests.

“You’re missing the point,” Sam says, shaking his head. He actually finds it kind of sweet, kind of chivalrous, that Bucky supports Jack staying in the water.

“What is the point then?” Bucky asks.

Just as Sam’s about to answer, there’s an explosion of fireworks - more than just the stray outburst of one but of several. Sam looks at his phone.

“It’s midnight,” he says.

Bucky grins. “Don’t try to change the subject. I wanna know what the point is.”

“The point is you’re an asshole,” Sam says and leans forward so Bucky will kiss him.

Bucky only pretends like he’s not going to for about a second before he gives in and meets Sam half way.

“Happy new year,” he says against Sam’s mouth.

“You’re still an asshole,” Sam says but he’s already climbing into Bucky’s lap.

“-m your asshole.”

Bucky wraps his arms around him and Sam instantly feels secure. He barely even notices the constant percussion booming outside.

“Happy new year,” Bucky says again and it feels significant.

“Happy new year,” Sam replies, running his thumb along Bucky’s jaw.

“You wanna watch the fireworks?” Bucky asks. They could probably still catch the end of the show if they wanted but there’s nowhere else Sam would rather be right now than here in this closet with Bucky.

“Uh uh,” he says so Bucky kisses him. It’s the perfect start to a new year, even if those kinds of things don’t really matter.

 

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 21, 2021)**

They’ve been driving for two hours and Sam has no idea where they’re going. Luckily it’s summer so the sun hasn’t set yet but he doesn’t have a clue if they’re anywhere near their destination. And he kind of needs to pee. 

Eventually Bucky turns down a narrow side road that isn’t even paved. They drive down the gravel for a few minutes before Bucky pulls over, puts the car in park, and turns it off.

Sam looks around. There’s nothing here. Just a small clearing of grass surrounded by a bunch of trees. If Bucky wanted to murder him, this would be the perfect spot to do so- far enough off the main road that nobody would even know they were out here and populated with enough trees that they’d have a hard time looking for his body. Obviously Bucky’s not going to murder him but Sam’s not really sure what other uses this place has.

By the time Sam pulls himself out of the car, Bucky’s already got the trunk open, pulling out a bunch of stuff Sam didn’t even see him pack. The thing that catches his eye is the army green bundle he knows folds open into a tent.

“Camping?” he says. It’s definitely not what he expected this night to be but it’s actually kind of nice. Just the two of them out here away from everybody for one more night. It’s kind of perfect.

Bucky tosses him the tent with a smile and starts messing around with something in the trunk while Sam moves to set it up. It doesn’t take long. Tents are pretty straightforward and Sam has set this very one up before.

By the time he’s done, Bucky’s got a fire going in a makeshift pit a few yards away with a couple of chairs positioned around it. There’s also a small cooler and Sam is now really curious how long Bucky’s had this whole thing planned.

The sun starts to set not long after the tent’s up and the fire’s going. Sam’s drinking a beer from the cooler - his favorite kind because of course Bucky remembered and packed it - when Bucky hands him a sandwich wrapped in light pink paper, clearly from their favorite deli back in town. Sam is really starting to wonder when Bucky had time to do all this. The sandwich is still warm.

His curiosity must show on his face because Bucky shrugs and says, “You take long showers.”

And that is just not true. Sam takes perfectly average-length showers but he accepts the answer anyway. At least now he knows when Bucky got all of this ready.

The last thing Bucky does is set up a little battery-operated speaker connected to his phone on top of the cooler.

_Do… do… do do do… do…_ drifts out of the speaker and into the clearing as Ben E. King starts to play.

Sam feels instantly pleased. If he could impart any knowledge on Bucky, he’s glad it’s his excellent taste in music.

He eats his sandwich next to the fire in one of the chairs and Bucky sits in the other eating his own. It’s nice, peaceful. Sam can almost pretend like it’s not going to end, like they’re not going to wake up in the morning and make the two hour drive back to the city just so that Sam can get in another car and leave for the airport. Sitting here in front of the fire with Bucky, it feels like a permanent thing, a thing meant to last.

But they both know it won’t. Sam can feel it in the air between them- the bittersweet of the night hangs heavy all around.

Bucky’s looking at him like he’s thinking the exact same thing when it happens. _At Last_ \- the title track to their ill-fated love - plays out and Sam sees the rise of Bucky’s chest before he sees the broken smile on his face.

Bucky stands up, motioning for Sam to do the same. His hand on the small of Sam’s back feels so _right_ it almost hurts. Sam’s not ready to let this go.

“Do you remember,” Bucky says, and Sam thinks he knows where he’s going with this, “that night in the tent when you were freezing even though it wasn’t cold at all?”

It’s not what Sam’s expecting. He’s thinking about that first night in the apartment, the night he came to think of this as _their_ song, and Bucky’s thinking about a seriously unpleasant trip they made when they weren’t even together.

“It _was_ freezing,” Sam insists because he does remember that night and it was cold. “And raining,” he adds for good measure.

“That was the night I knew,” Bucky says, pulling Sam tighter against him. “You were such a pain in the ass.” He laughs but there’s a tremor in his voice. “It was the first time I felt like a person again.”

Sam doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t say anything, just presses his cheek against Bucky’s.

“I want you to be happy,” Bucky whispers, like it’s the loudest sound he’s capable of making right now. “I’m sorry I wasn’t…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence and Sam doesn’t want him to.

“It just wasn’t meant to be,” Sam says but he’s not sure he believes it. He’s overwhelmed by the scent of laundry detergent and the _thump_ of Bucky’s heart beating against his chest. His vision is blurred from the tears spilling out so he closes his eyes and tries to pretend like this moment will last. Like the song is never going to end and they’ll be happy out here, just the two of them, standing here next to the fire, forever.

Eventually the song does end and Sam can feel his heart being ripped right from his chest but Bucky doesn’t let go right away. They stand there under the stars holding each other for what seems like way too short a time until finally Bucky pulls him into the tent. There’s only one sleeping bag and it’s probably too hot to be pressed together inside of it but Sam doesn’t care. He wants to be as close to Bucky as he can get for as long as possible.

Spending the night in the tent with Bucky but knowing the sun’s going to come up and everything’s going to end is a very particular kind of torture. He feels like he’s on a plane that’s crashing in slow motion. He knows what’s going to happen - can clearly see his fate laid out before him - but there’s not a damn thing he can do to stop it. He doesn’t even have a parachute. All he can do is wait for the inevitable.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If my calculations are correct, there are only two chapters left (plus possibly an epilogue)! SO CLOSE!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodbyes are hard. So very hard.

**Present Day (June 22, 2021)**

The whole morning - packing up the tent, making sure the fire’s completely out, throwing everything into the trunk - it’s all a bit overwhelming, the finality of it all. It feels like Sam’s packing up his relationship once and for all. His heart’s in his throat the entire time and he has to swallow back his tears more than once.

They don’t say much to each other, not while they’re loading up the car or on the drive back, but Bucky does reach out across the gear shift to rest his hand on Sam’s thigh and it feels sort of like an affirmation, like even though they’re coming to an end, Bucky doesn’t hold it against Sam. It feels like he’s saying he wouldn’t take any of it back.

The drive back goes by far too quickly and Sam has to force himself to get out of the car when Bucky drops him off at his old office to say goodbye to Aleela. He knows he’ll see Bucky again - that he’s coming to the airport with them later - but Sam’s afraid if he takes his eyes off of him for even a second, he’ll disappear and Sam will never see him again. It’s stupid. Of course Bucky isn’t going anywhere. He’s never gone anywhere. He’s been here the whole time, just waiting for Sam to figure out his shit.

And now that Sam has, Bucky’s still the one that has to watch him go.

He wonders if Bucky’s afraid to blink for fear of losing him. He tries not to dwell on it though. It doesn’t really matter at this point.

Sam doesn’t have any coffee when he walks into Aleela’s office this time but it doesn’t look like she cares. She gives him a sympathetic smile and motions for him to sit down.

“You’re leaving, then?” she asks.

He nods. “I fly back to the states tonight.”

“And this is what you want?”

Sam doesn’t know how to answer that. This is not what he wants, not at all. What he wants is for his life to be simple, for Bucky to be able to be a part of his life back in New York or to be able to stay here and actually have a life in Wakanda with Bucky. What he wants is to not feel like he’s suspended in mid air, waiting to fall, all the while knowing he doesn’t have a parachute.

Nothing about this is what he wants.

“It’s what I need,” he says, but that doesn’t feel like the truth either. Not right now. Not when the idea of getting on a plane and leaving behind every single piece of his life here feels like he’s preparing to perform open-heart surgery on himself.

He’s trying to convince himself that the reason it’s so hard is because it’s the right thing to do.

A voice in the back of his mind keeps insisting that if it was the right thing to do he would feel better about it.

Aleela doesn’t respond to his statement. Sam was kind of hoping she would though, that she would either confirm it or call bullshit, anything to let Sam know if he’s making the right choice. But he guesses that’s the point- the only person who really knows what Sam needs is Sam. It’s time he started paying attention to himself and stopped building his life around other people. If the last couple of weeks have taught him anything, it’s that.

“I remember your very first day here,” is what Aleela does say.

Sam doesn’t remember the first day. He has a vague recollection of his first few weeks in the office, of getting to know the flow of things and becoming accustomed to having a desk job. He remembers bits and pieces of going through training and learning the systems. But he doesn’t remember any specifics about his first day here.

“My son was in the office that day,” Aleela continues. “Oh he loved you. The American with the wings, the one who fought with the king.”

Sam smiles. He does remember that. He didn’t realize that was his first day on the job.

Aleela’s smiling too. “You sat and talked to him for almost an hour.”

Sam has to laugh at that. Of course he sat around talking to his boss’ son for an hour. No wonder Aleela doesn’t want to give him his job back.

“That night at the dinner table he said to me ‘I want to tell stories’ and you know where he is now.”

Sam does know. He’s in his second year studying creative writing at the university. Sam’s not really sure what that has to do with his first day working here though.

“He was here because he kept getting into trouble at school,” Aleela says. “But not after talking to you. I never thanked you for that.”

Sam doesn’t know what to say. He remembers that conversation. It wasn’t anything special. Sam just listened to him, maybe encouraged him a little bit. He didn’t do anything revolutionary though. Whatever changed, whatever it was that got the kid to figure out what he wanted from his future, it had nothing to do with Sam.

It’s like Aleela can hear exactly what he’s thinking. “You underestimate your strengths, Sam. You’re good with people. It’s why I kept you around so long.”

She’s smiling and there’s a hint of humor in her tone but he can tell she means it. She really believes he’s the reason, at least a part of it, that her son is where he is now.

“You deserve to be happy,” she says and Sam desperately wants to ask her how he’s supposed to make that happen. Because right now it seems impossible, right now it seems like the only option he has is to be okay, but okay is not happy. Okay is just _not bad_.

Instead he says, “Thank you.” He’s not entirely sure what he’s thanking her for, probably for everything- for giving him a job when he needed it and for letting him go when he needed that too. Maybe even for refusing to let him come back. He thinks maybe he’s thanking her for just being the person she is- one who worries about him and roots for him and is generous with her love and affection. She really does remind him of his mother and that hurts, but in a good way, in a way that lets him know he’s still alive and there are still people left in the world worth hanging around for.

 

 

* * *

 

**February 2019**

It’s cold enough that Sam can see his breath. He doesn’t really mind though. He hops around a little in place to get his blood going. He’s probably going to be sweating soon enough anyway.

“Ready?” Bucky asks and Sam nods. They start jogging in the direction of the nearest park. It’s only about a mile away.

Bucky, unlike that _other_ enhanced asshole (not naming any names Steven Grant Rogers), keeps perfect pace with Sam and doesn’t even hint at the fact that the whole thing doesn’t come anywhere close to counting as a workout for him. He just runs silently next to Sam like the considerate boyfriend he is. There are a few times he even falls back a little and Sam knows that he’s only doing it to look at his ass but he doesn’t really mind. He knows he’s got a great ass and he knows what it looks like in the contouring fabric of these jogging pants. He can’t really blame Bucky for wanting to get a peak.

Besides, Sam would be lying if he said he didn’t do the exact same thing with his boyfriend’s physique. He hopes he’s a little more discreet about it when they’re in public but he’s not sure if he actually accomplishes it.

It doesn’t matter anyway. They’ve reached their destination and Bucky’s sliding off the backpack he had strapped on and opening it up.

“Batter or catcher?” he asks.

“Bat,” Sam replies and starts practicing his swing with the aluminum one he carried on the run over.

Bucky pulls a glove out of the bag and takes his own vibranium bat with him to go jog out across the field. There’s a small group of young teenagers but Bucky leaves enough distance between where they’re kicking a ball around and the line he makes between himself and Sam that it shouldn’t be a problem.

Once Bucky’s there, Sam takes one of the balls out of the backpack, tosses it straight up, then takes a swing. It doesn’t make it out to where Bucky is, but it’s only the first one. He’s still warming up.

He throws another ball up and sends it soaring. This time Bucky has to jog backwards a little just to catch it.

By the time he takes the third ball out, the teens have taken notice. They’re not even pretending to kick the ball. They’re all facing Sam, waiting to see how far he’s going to be able to hit the ball. It’s kind of sweet. Sam can’t help himself when he calls out, “Wanna try?”

The kids look startled and unsure how to respond for about half a second before they’re running over to take him up on his offer.

“I’m Sam,” he introduces himself. “See that guy standing out there? That’s Bucky. Aim for him.”

One of the kids - a girl who can’t be more than thirteen - says, “Shouldn’t I try to make it past him, so he can’t catch it?”

“Oh so you’ve played baseball before?” Sam asks. She seems to understand the objective of the game perfectly well.

“I read about it,” she says. “I heard the king plays it at his palace.”

Sam smiles. “He sure does.”

It strikes him for the first time that when they do play at the palace there are never any children. And it’s not exactly open to the public. It’s just a thing they do with the palace staff whenever they get the chance. He wonders how many people in town would actually be interested in playing if given the chance.

Well, these kids are interested so Sam hands one of them the bat and shows them how to hold it properly, giving them a few pointers on how to best make contact with the ball. Then he takes the bag that still has at least a dozen balls in it and jogs out a few yards to throw a pitch. He makes it a soft one but the kid still misses. He tells them it’s okay and tosses another one and this time they make contact. The ball doesn’t go far but it’s still something and the look of surprised satisfaction on the kid’s face is priceless.

Sam gives them all a turn at bat until each of them has hit at least one ball, and Bucky, without prompt, returns them all right to where Sam is so that there’s an endless supply.

Sam wants to switch it up once all the kids have gotten a chance to hit a ball, wants to make them start catching too, but they only have two gloves with them and that’s not enough. So he continues to throw out pitches for them while they take turns at bat. They stay out there until one of the kids says they have to get home and the rest follow suit. They thank him and he tells them it’s no problem and they make their exit off the field.

“Are we coaching little league now?” Bucky asks as he’s depositing the balls back into the bag.

Sam feels kind of bad, though only mildly, for ruining their afternoon of practice without even consulting him. “They were just staring at us,” he says, defensive.

Bucky laughs. “It’s fine. It was fun.”

He sounds like he means it and he punctuates it with a kiss so Sam believes him. And it _was_ fun. Somebody should really start a summer league or something for the kids around town. There’d probably be lots of interest and it’s good wholesome fun. There’d be no downside to it.

 

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 22, 2021)**

“I can assure you that I will not miss you,” T’Challa says. “Steve might but I will be fine.”

There’s a smile on his face that says he’s far fonder of Sam than he’d ever admit to but it’s okay, Sam doesn’t need him to. He already knows.

“Take care of him,” Sam says. It’s not necessary. Of course T’Challa is going to take care of Steve. They’ve been taking care of each other for years now. The two of them have got this whole life thing figured out pretty well.

“You’re a good man, Sam. You will always be welcome in my country.”

This time Sam moves in for the hug. T’Challa’s a good person and Sam is going to miss him. And he’s so damn grateful for everything this man has done for him. Their whole relationship may have started out rocky - what with T’Challa being a part of the reason Sam got thrown in to one of the most secure prisons in existence - but they’ve come a long way. T’Challa is the reason Sam got to start his life over. He not only gave him amnesty but he gave him a home; he gave him a chance to rebuild his life. The fact that it didn’t work out in the end has nothing to do with T’Challa. That was all Sam. T’Challa is an excellent leader and an even better friend and Sam respects the hell out of him.

“Thank you,” he says and he hopes T’Challa can feel the full weight of it.

After T’Challa makes his exit, Sam has a little bit of time alone with Steve before they have to head for the airport. There’s so much he wants to say to him, especially after everything he’s come to realize over the past few days, but he doesn’t know where he would even begin.

Fortunately, Steve has some things to say too. “I’m glad you came, Sam.”

He’s not looking at Sam. He’s looking out at some nondescript location on the horizon and Sam’s wondering what it is he’s actually seeing.

“I know it wasn’t easy,” he continues. “I still don’t really understand…”

“Shit just happens, man,” Sam says. It’s really the only way to sum it up.

Now Steve does look at him. He looks… disappointed. It’s an expression Sam hasn’t seen on him in a very long time. “No, it doesn’t.”

It’s a ludicrous argument coming from Steve of all people- Steve, who was frozen in a block of ice for seventy years; Steve, who thought he was all alone in this world only to find out his best friend was still alive and living as a brainwashed assassin; Steve, who watched dozens of people get blown to pieces just because Wanda couldn’t control a ball of gas with her mind. Shit does just happen and Steve Rogers knows that better than just about anyone.

None of that really matters though. There’s only one thing Steve needs to know. “I wasn’t happy,” Sam says.

“You used to be,” Steve counters without missing a beat. He’s so sure, so _certain,_ about it that it catches Sam off-guard. Sam knows it’s true, there _was_ a time he was happy here, but that doesn’t really change the fact that by the time he left he wasn’t.

“Are you happy now? In New York?” Steve asks.

Sam doesn’t answer right away. He’s not going to lie to Steve but telling him that _happy_ isn’t the word he’d use kind of contradicts everything he just argued.

“I’m… okay,” he settles on. Because it’s the truth. Sam is okay in New York and for now that’s going to have to be good enough.

Steve nods to himself. “You know, no matter what happens-”

“I know.”

“You’ll always have-”

“I know.”

And Sam does know. His friendship with Steve, it’s the real thing. They’re family and Sam knows that Steve would do anything for him, just like he would for Steve. It doesn’t matter how far apart they go or what they do, they’re always going to have each other. It’s comforting. It makes leaving bother harder and easier.

“You boys ready?” Nat asks, walking out with her luggage. She’s aiming for light and airy but misses by a mile. She’s not ready to leave yet either.

There’s a gloom hanging in the air all around them. None of them are ready to say goodbye.

 

 

* * *

 

**December 2016**

“I want cherry,” Sam say as he watches Bucky chop the apples. He doesn’t actually care what kind of pie Bucky makes; he just likes the way Bucky smiles when he knows Sam’s messing with him.

And Bucky does smile, right as he turns to look at Sam and chucks a slice of apple straight at his head.

“What the hell was that for?” Sam asks, even though he knows the answer.

“Come here,” Bucky says, ignoring the question. “I need your help.”

Sam’s pretty sure that’s not true. He’s seen Bucky bake a pie before. There’s nothing about the process that requires two people but he gets up and walks over to him anyway. He’s half prepared for Bucky to dump a bowl of flour on his head but Bucky just leans away from the counter where he’s still got a knife in one hand and half an apple in the other.

“Kiss,” he requests and the look on his face is so earnest, so innocent, Sam completely forgets to be suspicious.

He complies and Bucky hums, and when Sam starts to pull back, Bucky pouts so Sam leans back in and kisses him again. He can feel Bucky smile against his mouth just as he hears the clack of the knife as Bucky sets it down on the counter to move in against him.

His hands must be covered in baking ingredients because he doesn’t touch Sam at all and usually he can’t keep his hands to himself. What he does do is use his body to nudge Sam back against the counter, then press his entire length against him. His body is warm and solid and he barely even flinches when Sam gets his cold hands up under his sweater and presses them against his skin.

“Mean,” Bucky murmurs, but he doesn’t pull away.

Sam moves his hands around to Bucky’s back and Bucky squirms a little but it only pushes his body closer to Sam’s, so Sam counts it as a win. “You love me,” he says.

“Mhmm,” Bucky agrees and kisses Sam again.

They stand there like that, kissing lazily, Bucky’s hands hovering in midair so that whatever’s all over them doesn’t get on Sam, and Sam using the heat from Bucky’s torso to warm his hands. It’s perfect in its simplicity. It’s always so easy with them. Every moment, big or small, it always feels right. Whenever Sam’s with Bucky, no matter what they’re doing, it always feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. He’s not sure he’s ever felt like this before. The last time he felt even half this secure had to have been when he was a teenager, back when his parents were still alive and he hadn’t yet figured out just how unforgiving the world could be.

But right now, right here in this moment with Bucky against him and the smell of apples and cinnamon in the air, Sam thinks that maybe he underestimated the world, maybe he didn’t give it enough of a chance before.

After way too short a time, Bucky pulls back just enough to ask, “Do you really want cherry pie?” His expression is soft but his eyes are serious.

Part of Sam wants to fuck with him and tell him that he does but he can’t bring himself to do it. Bucky looks so sincere, like he’d run right out and handpick the best cherries the world has to offer so long as it’d make Sam happy.

“No.”

“Good. I don’t know how to make cherry pie.”

“You probably just use cherries instead of apples,” Sam guesses. It can’t be that different.

“Apple pie is better anyway,” Bucky says, then kisses Sam one last time before moving back over to the cutting board and picking up the knife again.

The sound of the front door opening and then closing alerts them to Steve’s presence.

“Happy Christmas Eve,” Steve says with a level of cheer that is frankly a tad overkill. He’s wearing a sweater that has Donald Duck in a Santa hat with the words ‘bah humbug’ printed underneath his face. It’s in complete contrast to his lively demeanor and the antlers he’s wearing on his head. Plus it’s ugly.

“Happy Chanukah,” Bucky counters without even turning around. Sam really wants him to. He wants to know what his face will do when he sees what Steve’s wearing.

“When does Chanukah start?” Steve asks, setting the bag he was carrying down on the table.

“Tonight,” Bucky answers, then turns around. The expression on his face doesn’t actually change when he sees what Steve’s wearing but he does pause for a second before he continues over to the sink to put the knife in it. “So will the rest of the reindeer be joining us tonight or is it just you?” he asks and Sam loves him. He really fucking loves him.

“Just trying to spread a little cheer,” Steve says.

“I’m just a little concerned,” Bucky says. “If you’re here, who’s going to guide Santa’s sleigh tonight?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Be nice. I’m making mom’s famous hot chocolate.”

“Shutting up,” Bucky says as he moves back to the counter to do something with the apples now that they’re all sliced.

Steve starts taking things out of the cupboard to go along with the stuff he brought in the bag.

It’s interesting to watch them work with and around each other. It’s almost like this is routine for them, a thing they’ve done a hundred times already. It strikes Sam that they probably have. Maybe this is what holidays were like for them back before war tore them apart. It’s times like these that Sam remembers just how much history these two have. And this is the first time in a very long time that either of them have gotten to spend the holidays with a piece of home, a piece of family, even if it is in the wrong country and the wrong century. At least they have each other for this. It kind of makes Sam miss his sister.

He should call her. He’s making a mental note to remind himself to make that call tomorrow when the doorbells rings.

“That’s probably T’Challa,” Steve says and hurries to get it.

“So how are we going to accidentally on purpose destroy that sweater?” Bucky asks without even bothering to lower his voice.

“Do you want the hot chocolate or not?” Steve calls from the foyer and then him and T’Challa are walking into the kitchen together.

T’Challa is not wearing a stupid Christmas sweater; he’s not wearing any embarrassing apparel at all but he is carrying two bottles that he sets down on the table. One’s whiskey- a brand Sam’s never heard of and assumes is probably the most expensive whiskey in the world and the other’s in a language Sam can’t read and doesn’t even recognize.

“Asgardian,” T’Challa explains.

Sam kind of wants to ask him how he possibly got his hands on a bottle of Asgardian liquor but mostly he thinks it’s best if he never finds out. Whatever royal relationship the King of Wakanda has with a demigod from another world is none of his business.

It’s not long before Steve’s finished making ‘mom’s famous hot chocolate’ - complete with a shot of T’Challa’s expensive whiskey - and Sam definitely understands why Bucky was willing to stop making fun of Steve’s Christmas attire over it. It’s the second best drink Sam’s ever had in his mouth. He drinks enough that he’s slightly buzzed by the time Bucky finally puts the pie in the oven and settles down with him on the couch.

It’s a good night. Sam might not be with his sister but he does feel like he’s with family. He does feel like he’s home. Spending the night laughing and in good spirits with the man he loves and two of his best friends is not the worst way he could spend the holiday. He’s happy here.

 

 

* * *

 

**Present Day (June 22, 2021)**

The drive to the airport is a particularly brutal kind of torture. Nobody says much. Steve sits in the driver’s seat, hand gripped tight against the wheel. Nat’s next to him and Sam can’t see her face but he can’t imagine there’s anything reassuring going on there. Sam’s in the back and Bucky’s right there next to him, hand clasped tight in his, but it still feels like he’s slowly slipping away.

Nobody comments on Nakia’s absence.

By the time they finally make it to the airport, Sam’s almost relieved just to get out of the car and 

get this whole thing over with but the second he’s standing in front of the doors and he knows he has to say goodbye, he feels his entire world start to crumble around him. He’s not ready for this. He’s never going to be ready for this.

Steve sweeps him up into a devastatingly tight hug that would probably be enough to break Sam’s nerve all on its own but before he lets go, quiet enough for only Sam to hear, he says, “If leaving’s what you need to do, I support that, you know I do. But you’ll always have a home here. You’re family and it’s just not the same without you.” 

He squeezes Sam a little tighter, gives him one last pat on the back, then releases him. His eyes are a little wet but Sam can’t really judge him; his vision’s more than just a little blurry too. And the only thing he’s capable of doing right now is nodding in response. He hopes Steve understands every word he doesn’t know how to say.

There’s not much time to dwell on whether or not Steve gets it though because Bucky’s standing to his left and this is the moment Sam’s really not ready for. How is he supposed to say goodbye to this man standing here, the man who holds his entire heart in the palm of his hand.

He has to steel himself just to look at him. When he finally does, he’s not prepared for what he sees. It’s Bucky, the same Bucky that’s always been there, but he’s biting his lip and Sam’s never seen him look so small. Not when they found him in Bucharest, nor any of the dozens of other times he was fighting the entire world just to stay alive. Not even in any of those moments back when he was still learning how to cope with the gravity of all the things he’d done. There’s not a single moment that compares to the look of absolute torment on Bucky’s face right now. And the worst part is that Sam can see how hard he’s trying to hide it, how much effort he’s putting into keeping it to himself.

It’s not working. Every piece of him that’s breaking is on display, loud and clear, and Sam knows it’s probably all mirrored on his own face.

“Is this payback for that time I told Steve you broke his mug?” Bucky asks. He punctuates it with a smile but it’s only half-formed and there are tears in his eyes so Sam can’t really find it in himself to be amused.

“It’s actually for that night in the motel when you wouldn’t shut up about the fish,” he says and Bucky’s response is to move right into his space, wrapping one arm around his lower back, using his other hand to guide Sam’s mouth to his.

Sam’s not sure which one of them is trembling - maybe it’s both - but he can feel it through their lips pressed together. His hands are gripped tightly in Bucky’s shirt and he’s not ready to let go, doesn’t think he ever will be, and when Bucky pulls back just enough to rest their foreheads together, Sam wants to scream.

It shouldn’t be this hard. Saying goodbye shouldn’t feel like he’s never going to be able to breathe again, like he’s always going to be too broken to move on. It shouldn’t feel like everything inside of him - every ounce of blood, every fragment of bone, every microscopic little cell - is slowly seeping out, leaving him empty and useless. It shouldn’t feel like everything that’s keeping him alive is going to disappear the second he lets go of the man holding him up.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair and Sam never even got to tell him everything he means to him. There’s no time now. There’s not enough time left in the universe for Sam to explain all the ways in which knowing Bucky, _loving_ him, changed his life forever, all the ways it made him happy, even if it was only for a little while.

“I love you,” he says because it’s the one thing he knows how to say; and it’s the one thing he needs Bucky to know.

Bucky’s grip on him tightens as he lets out a shaky breath. “I want you to be happy,” he says, voice faltering on the last word, and Sam almost wishes he would just ask him to stay.

But he doesn’t and Sam has to go. He kisses Bucky one last time before pulling away and heading straight through the doors to enter the airport. He can’t stop, can’t look back, can’t slow down for even a second or he’s never going to be able to do this.

Nat doesn’t say anything to him while they check their luggage, nor while they go through airport security or board the plane. It’s not until well after they’re airborne, too late to turn back, that she even acknowledges him. She takes his hand in hers and when he looks over at her he notices the tear stains on her cheeks.

There’s not a single second of the seventeen hour flight back that he doesn’t think about how wrong all of this feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter! Will Sam and Bucky finally learn to use their words? Will Nat get her happy ending? Are you all going to hate me? Stay tuned.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. We've made it. The end. There's going to be one more chapter after this, just a short little epilogue, but this is basically it. This is the resolution. I hope you find it satisfying. I don't know how many times I can say thank you for reading and commenting and sticking with this little story. This has been so much fun and I've met so many amazing people because of this and I'm just feeling kind of emotional? So just.. here, have this chapter before I start getting all weepy.
> 
> Oh also there are no flashbacks in this chapter. This is all the same day.

**Present Day (June 24, 2021)**

They didn’t talk much on the flight back. There wasn’t really anything to say. Sam already told Natasha why he couldn’t stay in Wakanda - that he couldn’t make his whole life about Bucky - and it wouldn’t take a degree in psychology to figure out that Nat wasn’t exactly leaving Wakanda in the best of spirits. Nakia’s absence and the tears Nat didn’t even try to hide said far more than any explanation she would’ve tried to fumble through.

When they got back into the city Sam offered her his company - told her they could wallow in their misery together in bed eating junk food and watching dumb movies - but she declined. She had her brave face on but he could see right through it- she wasn’t okay and she needed to go be not okay somewhere by herself.

Sam gets it. At least in theory. He’s never really had to suffer through anything by himself. He’s always had a family and friends and at least some kind of support system in place. Nat never had any of that, not until recently, and it’s not like she was ever allowed to have feelings about anything anyway.

He wonders what someone like her does in this kind of situation- what does she do when every emotion she’s ever experienced feels like it’s expanding inside her chest but there’s nowhere for it to go? How does someone who was taught to ignore their every feeling cope with this kind of pain?

Sam has no idea. He’s been lying in bed alone for about twelve hours and already he feels like he’s going to actually physically be torn to shreds by his feelings if he doesn’t do something about them soon. So he gets on a train and heads to his sister’s. It’s an hour long commute but it’s worth it just to not be buried under the weight of everything he’s trying to process, everything he’s trying to come to terms with.

The second his sister opens the door and sees his face, she ushers him in. “Shit,” she says.

Sam follows her inside and to the living room where his niece is trying and failing to stack a bunch of multi-colored plastic blocks. Every time she gets to the third block, she sends the first two toppling over, so he sits down on the floor with her and does his best to guide her without actually doing the stacking for her.

His sister sits on the couch, one leg curled up underneath her, and says, “Well?”

He’s not sure where he’s even supposed to begin. A barrage of images flash through his mind: Bucky’s soft smile as Sam hands him the keys to the car, a cup of steaming hot coffee sitting on the bedside table, a fitted sheet and a meatball sub, the inside of a tent as rain pelts down around it, the metal of Bucky’s arm wrapped tight around his body, the infuriating shit-eating grin on his face whenever he gets under Sam’s skin, Bucky whispering _I don’t wanna be with anybody else_ and the way his lips look with Sam’s fingers resting against them, a discarded stack of notecards and Bucky’s cheek pressed into his palm, a thousand _I love yous_ that will never be enough and the whimsical notes of a song Sam could never get tired of, the scent of laundry detergent and a dozen candles dancing around him, the feeling of absolute security he’s only ever gotten from being in Bucky’s arms.

It’s all too much and he can’t stop the silent sob that rips through his body or the tears that start to fall all before he’s able to get a single word out.

Immediately, his sister is up and off the couch, kneeling down beside him to wrap her arms around him.

“I really thought I’d get a call saying you weren’t coming back,” she says as his niece stumbles over to copy her mom and comfort him with a hug too. Mostly she just ends up falling into his lap. It’s cute and it makes him feel marginally better.

He tries to sniff back some of the tears. “Why wouldn’t I be coming back?”

“I thought if you two were in the same place you’d work it out.”

“There’s nothing to work out,” he says and wipes his nose on the back of his hand. It’s kind of gross but he can’t be bothered to care right now, not amidst this gut-wrenching pain and the way his sister is staring at him like she’s searching for answers.

But he doesn’t have any answers for her. He can’t even answer his own damn questions. He’s not even sure what his questions are anymore. He’s a walking disaster and he’s here so she can help him feel better, not the other way around.

“I really thought he loved you,” she says with a sigh.

“He does,” Sam says. It’s the truth. He knows that now. Bucky does love him. That was never the problem.

His sister leans back. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?”

“He loves you?” she says.

“Yes,” Sam confirms.

“And obviously you love him or you wouldn’t be over here crying right now.”

He doesn’t appreciate the condescension but she’s correct so he nods his affirmation.

“So what the hell are you doing here? Why aren’t you over there with him living out your happily ever after?”

The exasperation with which she says it is, quite frankly, impressive. It takes him a couple of seconds to string together a response.

“My whole life is here,” he stutters out.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh right, I forgot. Nobody in the history of time has ever relocated to be with the person they love.”

“It’s not that simple,” he argues. “I have a job here.”

“Do they not have jobs in Wakanda?”

He hesitates. Of course they have jobs in Wakanda. That’s not the issue. “I wasn’t happy with my job there.”

She levels him with the most unimpressed glare he’s ever seen in his entire life. “You’re so damn stupid,” she says, then reaches out to take her daughter from his lap. “Give her to me. I don’t want you getting your stupid all over my kid.”

She stands up and Sam’s left sitting on the floor, gaping up at her.

“You love the man,” she says. “He’s stuck over there in Wakanda but you’re not stuck here. You can get a job you love anywhere. Pull your head out of your ass and let yourself be happy for once.”

She chucks a box of tissues at his head as she walks out of the room, leaving him sitting there on the floor all by himself, completely stunned. He has no idea what the hell just happened. He came here for comfort and all he got was a lecture.

 

 

* * *

 

Sam’s expecting Nat to answer the door looking like a complete wreck - wearing sweats, mascara smeared down her face from crying, hair all tangled in knots - if she even answers it at all. He doesn’t want to bother her, wants to give her time and space to grieve in whatever way it is she needs, but he’s having a crisis here and he needs his best friend. Besides, he’s given her about a day of solitude already. It’s… he’ll make it up to her later somehow.

When she does answer the door though she looks fine- completely put together and like nothing’s happened at all. It’s almost more disconcerting than if she had answered it sobbing into a tissue. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Did I make a mistake?” he asks.

The look on her face as she moves aside to let him in says she has no idea what he’s talking about.

“Leaving,” he says. “Should I have stayed in Wakanda?”

“I don’t know how to answer that,” she says. Her voice is rough. It sounds like she just chain-smoked an entire truckload of cigarettes.

“Okay what’s going on with you?” he asks. He does have a problem and he’s definitely in the middle of a crisis but he’s worried about her too.

“I’m fine,” she says. It’s not convincing at all but he’s kind of afraid if he pushes, she’ll break.

Back to his problem, then.

“I love Bucky,” he says. Nat probably doesn’t need him to tell her this but he figures maybe if he says it all out loud, he’ll start to make some sense of it. “But he’s in Wakanda. His life is in Wakanda. And my life is here in New York. My family is here-”

“Your sister would understand if you left,” Nat says, interrupting him. She’s right. His sister would understand and she basically just shoved him out the door anyway. But she’s not the only thing holding him back.

“My friends are here,” he says.

“I’m your only friend here,” Nat argues.

“I have lots of friends here!”

She rolls her eyes. “You tolerate Tony and you barely even know Pepper. And if you can tell me the name of even one of the wives of the guys you play basketball with on the weekends I’ll give you a thousand dollars.”

She has a point. With the exception of her, he has a much deeper connection with the people living in Wakanda, but the problem is he never saw them. He probably talks to them more now than he did when he was living there. And he actually spends time with the friends he has here. They may not be the most important people in the world to him, but they’re there. They help keep him busy, help keep him going.

Furthermore, Nat _is_ one of the most important people in the world to him. He doesn’t know what he’d do without her. If it wasn’t for her, he’d probably still be crying into a bottle of wine alone in his apartment every night. She’s the one who picked him up off the literal and metaphorical floor.

It occurs to him as he’s thinking about how much she means to him that the kind of friendship they have defies distance. It doesn’t really matter where they are in the world, they’re always going to have each other.

“You’re my best friend,” he says. It’s important that she knows.

She smiles and it’s genuine. “You’ll still be my mine even if you leave.”

“I can’t leave,” he says. It’s immediate, like a gut reaction. He doesn’t even think about it, it just comes out.

“Why not?” she asks.

“What about the VA?”

“New York’s not the only place with support groups, Sam.”

She’s right. And two of the people that understand what Sam’s been through best are already in Wakanda. And even if that wasn’t true, it’s not like there aren’t resources. It’s not like there aren’t therapists and message boards and a whole host of other options for him. The VA in and of itself has never been the thing Sam needed. It’s the sense of community, the inherent understanding of just how difficult it is to be the one to come home that the other people at the meetings have, but that’s not exclusive to the VA. People all over the world have baggage. He knows he can’t use it as an excuse.

“My job is here,” he says. Because that’s really the thing he’s been hinging his entire decision on since the moment he asked Aleela for his old one back. He can’t go back to a job he doesn’t love, not after finding one that means the world to him.

“Sam,” Nat says. It’s uncharacteristically gentle coming from her, focusing all his attention on her words while she speaks. “You can be a counselor anywhere.”

He swallows. It’s true. She’s right. He has no argument, but still…

“What if I can’t?”

“Can’t what?”

And this is it. This is the thing he’s been too afraid to let himself feel. This is the thing he buried way down deep and now here it is, rising to the surface and he didn’t even see it coming.

“What if I can’t be happy? What if… what if this is my penance? What if I go back and do everything right this time and it still doesn’t work?”

He’s expecting to see pity cross her face - even as he’s saying the words he hears how utterly pathetic they sound - but there’s none, not even an ounce of sympathy. The only thing happening with Natasha right now is understanding.

She doesn’t look at him when she speaks. “When I was a little girl they let me have friends. I know everybody thinks I grew up isolated and alone but I didn’t. There were other girls.”

Her voice is impossibly fragile and Sam can tell just by the line of tension running straight through her that this isn’t a piece of herself she ever wanted to give away; this is a fragment she was prepared to keep under lock and key forever.

“I was fifteen when they made me choose,” she continues. “In order for me to live, the other girls had to die.”

He can feel the shame radiating off of her. It’s suffocating and he feels so much anger, so much resentment that the world is cruel enough to make a child think they’re responsible for their own hurt, that some part of Natasha still thinks she’s to blame for her own trauma, that it leaves him speechless.

“Sometimes I’m afraid the only way for me to survive is if the people I care about die,” she says and that’s just about all he can take.

The only thing he’s capable of doing is wrapping his arms around her and hoping she feels everything he knows he’ll never be able to verbalize. She’s not the most affectionate person in the world but she doesn’t resist so he counts it as a win.

“Nat?” he says after giving them both a few minutes to wade through the carnage of their respective emotional and mental wreckage.

“Yeah?” Her voice is muffled by his shoulder.

“We have to go to Wakanda,” he says. He knows it’s true. They can’t hide away forever just getting by on good enough when the chance to be happy is within their grasp.

“I’m scared,” she says.

“Me too.”

 

 

* * *

 

Sam sent Nat to Avengers Tower to talk to Tony. He offered to go with her but she said she was okay to go by herself. Half of him thinks she’s going to chicken out but there’s not much he can do about it if she does. Ultimately it’s her life and he has to trust that she’s going to make the best decisions for herself.

Now he has to make the best decisions for himself. And that involves building a life in Wakanda, _with_ the man he loves. There are a lot of details to figure out and he’ll do all of that eventually but right now what he needs is to get his ass on a plane and get to that man because he’s already fucked this up once. He already let the love of his life slip through his fingers once because he was too scared to just talk to him; too scared to do anything. He let his fear and his damage and every piece of baggage he’s ever carried weigh him down and hold him back but he’s not going to do that this time.

This time he’s going to tell Bucky he loves him, that he doesn’t want to live without him, that he wants to be happy, and that he’s going to do everything in his power to make that happen in Wakanda with him. This time he’s not going to run away.

His mind is spinning as he races back to his apartment just so he can grab his passport. He’s not thinking about any of the practical things he needs to do- writing a letter of resignation, finding a new job, getting someone to take over his lease, maybe even packing a suitcase. The only thing bouncing through his head is _Bucky Bucky Bucky_. 

He shoves his key in the lock, eager to grab his passport and go. He needs to see Bucky, needs to talk to Bucky, needs to kiss -

Bucky. Standing in his living room, in jeans and a hoodie even though it’s summer in New York and a thousand degrees outside.

Bucky. Standing in his living room, on American soil, even though he could be shot on sight just for being here.

Bucky. Standing in his living room, staring back at Sam like there’s not a single other thing in the world he could possibly be looking at.

It’s so unexpected that it just about knocks the wind out of him. He can’t help the question that tumbles out. “What are you doing here?”

“Anything,” Bucky says, without hesitation. “Literally anything.”

His hands are balled into tight fists and his chest is rising and falling with every breath he takes, like maybe being here is the most difficult thing in the world, but he’s looking right at Sam with more determination than Sam’s ever seen on another human being’s face.

“I didn’t fight for you last time,” Bucky says. “I thought… I thought I was giving you what you wanted but I can’t do that again. I can’t… Wilson, I can’t. I can’t live without you and I don’t care if that means I have to move here. I’ll quit my job. I’ll figure something out. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll buy you that island. We can go somewhere tropical. I don’t care-”

He’s rambling and he’s not showing any signs of slowing down.

“-I can’t lose you again. My life in Wakanda is good, it’s fine, but it’s not enough. It doesn’t have you. You’re the most important thing to me and I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel that way before but I’ll do better this time, I promise-”

He’s pleading with Sam now and if he’d just stop talking for a single second, if he’d just take a breath, Sam could wrap his head around everything he’s saying, around every word he’d wished he’d heard a year and a half ago, now knowing full well that they wouldn’t have made a difference back then. But they do now. They matter now and Sam needs Bucky to shut up for just a second, just a single solitary second…

“Volkswagen!” he yells, knowing Bucky will understand the weight of the word, even though they never actually found a use for it before.

As expected, Bucky halts immediately. He’s frozen in place; it’s like every single cell, right down to his organelles, have suddenly entered inertia. He’s not even breathing.

“Volkswagen,” Sam repeats, this time much gentler.

Bucky doesn’t blink and he doesn’t start breathing again, but Sam can see his throat move as he swallows.

“You can’t move here,” Sam says and the force with which Bucky bites back a protest is unmistakeable. Sam ignores it though because his protest is unnecessary anyway. “It would be a really stupid thing to do since I just came by to grab my passport so I could catch the next flight to Wakanda.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything but his mouth does fall open the slightest bit and the tension in his body softens noticeably.

“You can’t move here,” Sam says again. “But I can move to Wakanda. I can have a life there. I _want_ to have a life there. With you.”

Bucky’s chin lifts slightly in response to Sam’s words. “Can I talk now?”

Sam nods. He’s pretty much said what he needed to.

“I love you,” Bucky says.

It’s so simple but it feels like a firework exploding in Sam’s chest and suddenly Bucky is across the room and his lips are on Sam’s and for the first time in a very long time, everything feels _right_. Sam’s still terrified of everything that could go wrong but in this moment it’s like nothing could possibly hurt him.

Bucky has one hand on his lower back, the other cupping his jaw, and it’s exactly where his hands belong, exactly where they should always be. It feels like home.

“You can’t give up your life for me,” Bucky whispers. “I can’t be the reason you’re unhappy.”

He smells like sweat and seventeen hours stashed away in the cargo space of some plane but underneath it all there’s another more familiar scent. There’s laundry detergent and Bucky’s unwavering selflessness, his unflinching need to rise above the shit hand he’s been dealt and do better, do _good_.

“You are the most annoying person in the entire world,” Sam says. “But I’m doing this for me.”

“Promise?”

“I swear.”

The obnoxious sound of Sam’s ringtone fills the apartment as his phone goes off in his pocket. He wants to ignore it but Bucky pulls back a step to let him answer so he digs it out.

It’s Natasha. He can’t not answer it.

“Is everything okay?” he asks after accepting the call.

_“I’m boarding a plane right now. I can’t wait for you. I’m sorry. I have to go now.”_

Relief, and a dash of pride, flood through him as he pictures her taking her seat and buckling up.

“It’s okay. I’ll be there soon.”

_“Sam?”_

“Yeah?”

_“Are we gonna be okay?”_

“I think we’re gonna be happy.”

He finds he means it. He really does. This is going to be a good thing, for both of them.

When he hangs up, Bucky’s looking at him with that mischievous glint in his eye that Sam both loves and hates.

“Before we do this,” he says, completely serious, “I just need to make sure we’re on the same page about one thing.”

“What is it?” Sam asks. Whatever it is he’s sure they can work through it.

“I just-” Bucky starts, then pauses to take a deep breath. “I just need you to admit that fish have feelings too.”

“I hate you so much,” Sam says but Bucky’s already got his hands on Sam’s hips, pulling him close and Sam can shake his head all he wants, he’s still going to let Bucky kiss him.

“I love you,” Bucky says against his mouth and Sam can’t fight it. It’s the strongest thing he’s ever felt in his entire life.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feel free to come shout things at me on [tumblr!](http://bisexualbcky.tumblr.com/)


	15. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is completely unnecessary but it's the ending I always had in mind so I'm posting it!
> 
> Again, thank you thank you thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, talking to me here and on [tumblr](http://bisexualbcky.tumblr.com/), etc. You guys are all amazing and I'm so very grateful for each and every one of you!

**June 2023**

“You’re late,” Nat says as she climbs into the car.

Sam checks over his shoulder before he merges back onto the road. “I could’ve let you walk.”

She doesn’t respond to that. Probably because she knows he would never do that. Also maybe because she’s already immersed in the tablet in her hand.

“I literally just picked you up,” he says. “Couldn’t you have tried to make it at least five minutes before working?”

She ignores him but he doesn’t actually mind. He loves that she enjoys her job so much she can’t get enough of it, not even after a full day at the office. It’s cute and it makes him happy to know that she’s finally found a place she feels like she belongs, a place where she doesn’t have to doubt herself or what she’s doing.

The drive to the palace is a short one and they get there before Steve and T’Challa arrive. Nat says a quick hello to Bucky when they get inside, then goes right over to sit on the love-seat with Nakia. Neither of them are exactly the type to engage in public displays of affection but it’s still sometimes jarring to see them being even this open with their relationship, especially after all the time they spent hiding it; and the smile on Nat’s face when Nakia says something quiet enough for only her to hear is sort of priceless.

“How was practice?” Bucky asks as Sam takes a seat next to him on the couch. He’s got an eyelash on his cheek so Sam wipes it off, then holds it out on his finger for Bucky to make a wish.

“Practice was good,” he says. “I think Kiira’s gonna be our shortstop.”

“Kiira? Really?” Bucky says and blows the eyelash off Sam’s finger.

“She’s quick, man, and strong enough to get the ball where it needs to go.”

Bucky nods to himself, considering it, as the door opens and Steve and T’Challa walk into the room. Steve’s carrying Imara - their four year old - who’s passed out against his shoulder; and T’Challa’s got the newborn tucked safely in the crook of his arm. They look like such a little family- not that they didn’t before; there’s just something about them having two kids now instead of just the one that makes them seem like a photo op waiting to happen. It’s grossly heart-warming.

After Steve puts Imara in bed they all take turns holding the new baby. Seeing Bucky hold them does something to Sam’s stomach. It’s even worse when Bucky hands the baby to him, then wraps his arm around Sam so he can stay close enough to still look at their scrunchy little face. And their tiny little toes. And their adorable little nose.

“I want one,” Sam says. He’s only half-serious. This baby is precious and Sam wouldn’t necessarily mind having one some day but he knows he’s not really ready for that yet. He might not ever be and that’s okay. He’s pretty happy with the life he’s got right now.

Bucky kisses his cheek. “We can start practicing tonight,” he says. It’s supposed to be a joke, a dirty little innuendo, but his expression is soft and he’s looking down at the baby like he’s thinking the exact same thing.

It’s a good day. There’s a new addition to this little makeshift family Sam has here in Wakanda and there’re smiles all around. Sam leans into Bucky and he’s happy.

He’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnndddd it's officially done. : )
> 
> P.s. I'm not promising anything, but if you have any scenes you would like me to write for the 'B-sides' let me know in the comments or on tumblr. So far I have about eleven requests for the scene where Sam asks Bucky to use a condom from Bucky's perspective, two requests for something dealing with Steve and T'Challa's freaky sex life, and one for Nat and Nakia sneaking around. So... that'll be interesting.


End file.
